


Nine to Five

by narrativeimperative



Series: The Client [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Destiel - Freeform, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Castiel, Past Abuse, Self-Hatred, internalized anti-omega sentiment, lawyer AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narrativeimperative/pseuds/narrativeimperative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life isn’t easy for a modern omega. Since he never spent much time fantasizing about finding a big, strong alpha to swoop in and carry him away from it all, Castiel is a little bewildered by his current situation. He also isn’t sure how to keep the firm from finding out that he’s fucking his boss’s best client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags are for the whole story.
> 
> I'd also like to offer apologies for what is sure to be an erratic update schedule. This fic will finish, but it won’t finish quickly.

“You had a full heat?”

“Yes.”

“How many hours?”

“It was a little over two days, I think.”

“Closer to forty-eight hours or sixty?”

Castiel was sitting in the padded plastic chair of his doctor’s office, answering her clipped questions with increasing brusqueness. She hadn’t looked up from her clipboard since the moment she’d entered the room. She wasn’t an ideal GP – she was a woman, for one thing – but it wasn’t easy to find an omega specialist, not even in the city.

 _Doctors_ , the unhelpful part of his brain supplied. _If I waltzed in twenty-five minutes late to a meeting, there’d be actual consequences._

“Closer to sixty.”

“Knotted?”

“Yes.”

“Mated, I assume?” Not being a were herself, she couldn’t sense the minute differences in scent that marked a mated omega.

“No,” Castiel answered, too quickly. “Well, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Not _mated_ -mated,” he clarified. “No blood bond. Just a short-term thing.”

“Hmm. Brave omega.”

Castiel chose not to respond to that, and she moved on to the next question.

“Did you experience any nesting instincts?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him over her clipboard like she knew he was lying, but Castiel had an impressive poker face. He could look angelically honest if he wanted to. He wasn’t going to admit to having nested. He had some pride.

She looked down at her clipboard once more. “Well, everything seems back to normal, as far as I can tell. Your pupils aren’t dilated, your heart rate’s fine, and your pheromones are running clean. A successful heat.”

“In other words, you don’t have any idea what happened.”

She shrugged, unperturbed by his rudeness. “We’ll get the lab to take some blood samples and run the regular tests, but it all looks perfectly normal, Mr. Novak. These things do happen sometimes. Maybe it was just time for you.”

_Very scientific._

Castiel didn’t bother to hide the disdain on his face. “ ‘Just time’? That’s the best you’ve got?”

She leaned back in her own chair, unruffled. “Mr. Novak, I know that omegas like you – ”

Castiel raised his own eyebrow, and she clarified: “ – omegas who work outside the home don’t like to hear this, but nothing’s 100% effective in these situations. The drugs aren’t perfect. Your body was probably just sick of the chemicals. It can happen.”

“Fine,” Castiel said, although it was anything but. “So how soon can I go back on my suppressants?”

She looked mildly surprised. “You just mated successfully. Are you sure you – ”

“It was a weekend thing, not a lifetime commitment. How soon can I go back on them? If I wanted to, I mean. I’m curious. Would they still work?”

“Well, you’ve had a full heat – it should be fine. I’d recommend dampeners to begin with, myself, but you can go back on suppressants immediately, if you choose.”

Castiel shook his head. “No dampeners. It has to be suppressants.”

“You’re aware of the risks.”

“I’m familiar with the side-effects, yes,” Castiel said, irritated. He resisted the urge to point out that he’d been living with them for over four years, as she could obviously see from his paperwork.

“Long-term risks, Mr. Novak. Omegas who take high dosages of suppressants without interruption, as you do, face significant challenges later on in life.”

Castiel was familiar with the risks; he’d heard it all from the specialists already. Besides, the risks had never seemed important: what did he care about fertility problems and heat incompatibility? Those worries were so far removed from the life he led, they were laughable.

But there was another voice in his head now, a small slender spiral of _What about Dean?_

“Listen, I’m not mated and I work outside the home. End of story.”

She shrugged. “Then I’ll refill your prescription.” She looked down at her charts. “Was there anything else today? Aside from the heat issues, how are you feeling?”

 

 

 

_How are you feeling?_

It wasn’t a hard question to answer.

Dean hadn’t been wrong: Castiel _was_ feeling better, better than he’d felt in years. Without the hormones he felt stronger, more confident, less irritable. The muscle pains and the random headaches were gone. He felt ... clearer somehow, like his body was on his side, rather than working against him.

Even now, trapped in gridlock in a hot car in the smoggy, sweltering city, he wasn’t fighting nausea or desperately kicking back ibuprofen. He was just ... fine.

Three weeks ago, he’d slipped away from nest and mate ( _short-term_ mate, he reminded himself firmly) with no hormonal after-effects, as far as he could tell. Physically parting from Dean hadn’t felt great, because yes, alright, he _had_ nested and being with Dean was wonderful, but his body wasn’t pining. He’d been afraid he might feel a little brain-addled afterwards, but the nesting instinct had passed and left only clear, sparkling sobriety in its wake.

In conclusion, Castiel felt great.

So no, he didn’t really want to go back on his suppressants.

But he’d picked them up from the pharmacy anyways.

He looked over to the passenger’s seat, where he’d dumped the expensive glass vials. They were clattering together loosely in their bag, gently audible over the radio and the engine noise. Not surprising, since his car’s engine was remarkably quiet – he drove a sensible, fuel-efficient import.

“How can you even tell if the damn thing’s running?” Dean had asked, feigning incredulity.

“Yes, it’s ridiculous,” Castiel had responded, dryly. “You can almost hear yourself think when you drive.”

Castiel turned on the AC – another feature the impractical Impala did _not_ have – and relaxed as he inched his way forward through the rush hour traffic.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket. Six new e-mails, all from work. Those could wait until after dinner.

 _Going to be late_ , he texted. _Stuck in traffic_. He paused for a moment, then: _Sure glad I don’t drive stick._

He rolled his eyes when he read the responding text, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, just a little.

_Could have fooled me._

 

 

 

“That you, Cas?” Dean shouted from the kitchen.

“Just burglars,” Castiel shouted back, over the television noise and the sounds of Dean making dinner.

The air smelled like basil and butter and garlic bread, but those were just the one-hit wonder notes of dinner cooking. Underneath those scents, pressed into the fabric and the furniture and the walls, was Dean – arboreal and low, all dark tundra and musk. Sunny, too, but heavy. Not overpowering, not aggressive, just present.

There was nothing Castiel could do to stop the happy flutter in his chest when he inhaled: _Home, home, home._

The apartment was big, open-concept and airy, with more natural wood than he’d expected to see in a building this modern. Castiel loved everything about it, but his favourite part was that you could see straight through to the kitchen from the front door, which meant that the first thing he saw when he walked in was Dean standing at the stove, back to the room and sandy head bowed.

Without turning, Dean raised his arm in a distracted greeting, focused on the task in front of him.

Castiel supposed it was because he was still in the honeymoon phase of their ... whatever this was, but he always felt a warm thrill deep inside his chest when was able to look at Dean, really look at him.

He’d already changed out of his work clothes – Dean did reluctantly wear suits on occasion – into jeans and a raggedy old T-shirt. His broad shoulders were stooped over the stove, his hips tilted as he moved his weight from one leg to another, moving instinctively with the rhythm of his work. He was an intensely physical man, precise with his body and his hands. Even his bare feet were beautiful.

Castiel didn’t keep much from Dean, but he never shared how a small part of his brain remained continually awestruck that this man had stumbled into his life and decided to stay for a while.

“Oh, goddammit,” Dean muttered, fighting with something small and fidgety on his cutting board.

Castiel smiled. “Problems?”

“No!” Dean said, waving him away with his paring knife. “Stay out. I’ve got it.”

Dean was by no means a bad cook, but of the two of them, he was definitely less competent in the kitchen. This, Dean had informed him, was a challenge. Castiel was beginning to understand that Dean took challenges seriously, and Castiel let him, because Dean did impressive things when he rose to a challenge. It was entirely possible that he’d made it to executive on a dare. It must have been that alpha confidence – sometimes Dean did things just because he believed he could. And if perfecting lasagne or grilling the superlative steak was one of these things, Castiel wasn’t about to argue.

Castiel dumped his briefcase on the cluttered desk and draped his jacket on the back of the chair that Dean had taken to referring to as “your spot, Cas,” then shoved the sweating six-pack into the fridge.

Castiel had quickly learned that even though Dean was a whiskey snob, his definition of “beer” included unconscionable things like Bud Light and Coors. The lake house was stocked with home brews from Dean’s neighbour Bobby, but if there was ever going to be good beer in the apartment, Castiel had to be the one to buy it.

Castiel grabbed a bottle and shut the fridge, then moved to where Dean was chopping basil. Castiel wasn’t a short man – he was, in fact, tall – but he was shorter than Dean and he had to stretch up a bit to hook his chin over Dean’s shoulder.

“How was the doctor’s?” Dean asked, ruffling Castiel’s hair in a way Castiel would never admit he enjoyed. There was basil on Dean’s hand, and it was almost certainly now in Castiel’s hair.

“Fantastic,” Castiel said, letting himself snuggle a little more tightly into Dean’s shoulder, arms wrapping around Dean’s middle. “I love going to the doctor.” He slipped the neck of the bottle under Dean’s shirt, using the fabric to help him twist the top off. “She slut-shamed me and everything.”

“Honey.” Dean kissed his cheek, but clumsily; he’d gone back to stirring. “Well, that’s what you get for trying to sleep your way to the top.”

Castiel pressed the cold glass of the bottle to Dean’s stomach and Dean yelped. The muscles of his back flexed against Castiel’s chest. As punishment, Dean took the bottle from Cas’s fingers and took a swig before handing it back.

“What are you making?” Castiel asked, looking down into the pan. It smelled promising.

“It’s chicken – what’s it look like?” Dean squeezed some lemon into the sauce. He kissed Castiel’s cheek again, properly this time.

“Careful – you’re burning your onions,” said Castiel, back-seat chef.

“I’m not, I’m browning them.”

“Smells like you’re burning them. They shouldn’t be going crinkly like that.”

Dean swatted him away. “Make yourself useful, go get some plates.”

 

 

 

“So what are you going to do?” Dean asked, as they settled down to dinner at the clean end of the table. Books and papers and pieces of Dean’s latest projects were piled up on the other two-thirds of the table’s surface.

Castiel didn’t respond right away. He didn’t want to gum up the evening with a lot of Serious Emotional Conversation, but they couldn’t avoid this one forever. Dean hadn’t said anything, but they’d both known what his visit to the doctor could mean. No sense putting it off. Castiel put down his fork, and paused.

“I know that look. Out with it.” Dean’s words were teasing, but the tone was gentle.

Castiel wasn’t prevaricating – he was gathering his thoughts. He was recalcitrant by nature and cautious by habit, but there were very few things he kept from Dean. Their relationship had begun in a place where Castiel felt too vulnerable and humiliated to be anything but honest, and there was no sense in playing coy or cautious now. Dean had already seen him at his worst.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, speaking slowly. “I feel better without them. But it might just be because I feel better with you. And I don’t want to be with you just because the headaches are gone.”

Dean’s face twisted, the way it did when Castiel’s honesty was a little more piercing than he expected. A pause, and then Dean grinned that brilliant smile, the too-bright one that meant he was going to take refuge in levity.

“You’re worried you’re taking advantage of me?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Castiel replied, without bristling, “but yes. I only meant that there are a lot of reasons why I don’t want to go back on the suppressants, and not all of them are ... ”

“Winchester-centric? That’s fine. You don’t want to take them, then don’t. You do what you gotta do.”

“But this concerns you, too. Aren’t you even the slightest bit worried I might be staying with you for – ” Castiel grasped for words that Dean wouldn’t make sound ridiculous.

“For what, _ulterior motives_? Something other than my amazing ass? Nope. Gold-digging’s not your style.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean _that_ , I just – So you’re not worried I’ll bail on my meds and you’ll be stuck with some grumpy, hormone-sick omega?”

“You think if you go off them I’ll feel pressured to mate you.” Dean said it in that tone he sometimes got in meetings, when he wanted to pare down to the bone of the conversation fast.

Castiel stopped short. In the three weeks they’d been dating, neither of them had mentioned the “m” word.

Dean was watching him intently. Outside of heat, Castiel usually had no problem meeting Dean’s gaze, but he dropped his eyes now.

Castiel knew that Dean had been waiting for him to bring up the subject in his own time, hadn’t wanted to pressure him. Dean hadn’t asked any of the obvious questions (Why hadn’t Castiel asked yet? Weren’t omegas the ones who wanted the security of the mating bond? What was wrong with Castiel, why not Castiel?) but just because Dean wasn’t asking didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it. Why, Dean must be wondering, was Castiel silently digging in his heels on this?

“ _Would_ you feel pressured?”

Dean moved to rest his head on his hand, but his eyes stayed focused on Castiel’s face. “That’s not the question I thought you were going to ask me.”

Cas nodded. “I know.”

_Please don’t ask. Please don’t make me answer._

Dean didn’t.

“I know you’re worried about pressuring me, Cas – which is totally weird, by the way, it’s usually the other way around – but you’re not. I promise. You won’t make me feel guilty or unchivalrous or whatever.”

Castiel groaned. “Dean, I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” said Dean with a shrug, endlessly patient. “Just relax. You sort through your shit, take as much time as you need, and I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“It worries me that you’re not worried.”

“You worry too much,” he said, draining Castiel’s beer and heading to the fridge to grab two more.

Castiel tried very hard not to feel that Dean was dismissing him. Dean wasn’t, he knew. But he just thought everything was so ... so easy. It was his alpha confidence, that privileged bubble where he never considered worrying about these things, because he never had to. Or maybe Castiel was just being defensive again. Who knew.

“Seconds?” Dean asked.

Castiel turned to look where his alpha was standing in front of the stove. How was it, he wondered, that Dean could look equally at home in a board room and in the kitchen. Castiel smiled, and accepted the change in conversation.

“Sure. Hit me.”

After dinner, Castiel went to the bathroom, beer in hand. He lined the vials up on the counter next to the sink and unscrewed the caps. The formula was completely scentless.

“It doesn’t smell like anything. It’s strange. I’ve never understood it.”

“You don’t have to go off them,” Dean said, leaning against the doorframe behind him. His scent carried a touch of nervousness. He was clearly feeling apologetic, afraid he’d been too cavalier about this.

Dean never wavered from his official policy, which was that Castiel Did as Castiel Pleased, but Castiel knew Dean wasn’t keen on the hormones. Dean understood theoretically why an omega might choose to remain on hormones he or she was dating, but they weren’t necessary, not if ...

_Not if you’re mated._

“I already am off them, technically,” Cas said mildly, running through the mental pros and cons list he’d been constructing over the past three weeks.

“Then there’s no reason you shouldn’t go back on, if you want to.”

That “if you want to” hung in the air. It wasn’t an accusation, Castiel knew: Dean was just being conscientious, making sure he knew all his options were open.

Castiel met Dean’s eyes through the mirror. “If I go back on them, you know it’s nothing to do with you, right?”

Dean ducked his head, the way he sometimes did when there was emotional honesty involved. There was a lot Castiel didn’t know about Dean yet, but he suspected that little gesture had something to do with the father. “Cas. You don’t have to be a slave to your heat for us to work. I want you to do what’s good for you.”

Castiel nodded. He knew Dean meant what he said.

Headaches or heat, headaches or heat?

_You worry too much._

“Here,” said Dean with a frown, “you don’t have to decide tonight.”

Castiel smiled to see Dean looking so concerned, and realized he’d already made his decision. He’d made it days ago. He gathered the vials in one hand and unceremoniously dumped them down the sink. “They don’t have a long shelf life. No sense saving them,” he explained, as he began to rinse out the glass containers.

He put them back in the bag when he was done. “We can recycle those,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel.

Despite his bravado, he felt a little raw, all of a sudden. Dean was watching him, expression carefully neutral.

“Okay,” Dean said.

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Dean gently pulled him in by the hips and kissed him.

Not light, not tentative – solid, affirmative. Dean was as tactile with his lips as he was with his hands, and he knew Castiel didn’t like butterfly teases when he was feeling ... well, like this. He kissed him like it wasn’t a regular Tuesday and they weren’t standing barefoot in the bathroom.

Castiel let the momentum of Dean’s body press him back into the counter, let the rhythm of Dean’s breathing become his own. Castiel wasn’t particularly small or light, but Dean tightened his hands behind Castiel’s thighs and hefted him onto the counter without a second’s hesitation.

Castiel spread his legs, let them relax around Dean’s hips as Dean’s hands settled low on his spine.

“Big decision. Not freaked out about it?”

“Give me some time to get used to it,” Castiel admitted, “but I think we’re alright.”

“I hoped you’d stay off them,” Dean breathed, “but if it doesn’t work out like you want it to, you go back on them and we’ll figure out something else.”

Castiel nodded. Dean made this so easy.

Dean pulled back a little, but his hips stayed anchored in the cradle of Castiel’s thighs. “I mean it, Cas,” he said, trying for stern.

“I know you do,” said Castiel, smiling, because he did. “I know.” With his legs still wrapped lazily around Dean’s hips, he stretched his shoulders; he hadn’t realized how tense they’d been since the doctor’s. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

“Sounds good,” said Dean, pulling back and giving him space. He recognized that look; Castiel needed some time with his own thoughts.

 

 

 

The walk calmed him down. Castiel was off his hormones officially now – he’d done it. It was fine. It wasn’t irreversible and he could always change his mind, but he’d committed. It was a half-step, a baby step. It was all, he reflected a little bitterly, he could do right now.

Recalling something his therapist had told him once, he tried to remember to feel good about the little victories, even the baby steps.

Night fell as he walked through the park. It was still only spring, but the city was like a heat sink and the evenings were already getting warm.

When he got back to Dean’s, he was once again at peace with the world. Shucking his coat and dropping his keys in the bowl, he was unsurprised to find Dean stretched out on the couch, beer forgotten on the table. Castiel wandered over. Dean had his official red pen out and was working his way through a report calling itself the Guidelines Implementability Appraisal. The couch was long and wide, but it wasn’t comfortable. Dean insisted that was the point: it prevented him from relaxing, kept him focused on work.

“How’s it going?”

Dean stirred. “Gross. Guidelines are gross. Appraisals are gross. ‘Implementability’ isn’t even a word. I swear to God, I thought I had people to do this for me. How you feeling?”

“Perfect. No, don’t get up.” Castiel flopped down over his legs. “You’re still working? It’s past nine.”

Castiel really did believe in maintaining a work-life balance, even if he had – up until recently – tended to spend upwards of eleven hours a day at work. But that was only because he didn’t have a life. It was actually Dean – the man with hobbies and interests and social activities – who got lost in projects and wouldn’t come up for air until days later.

It was hard to get Dean to admit to this.

It meant that Castiel had to be insistent about ground rules: they weren’t allowed to talk shop or do any work after nine.

“Ugh, you’re strict. Budge up, I’ll clear this away.”

“No, you keep doing what you’re doing,” said Castiel, changing position so that he could reach Dean’s jeans button. “Don’t let me disturb you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as Castiel pulled the hem of Dean’s shirt up just high enough that he was able to kiss his navel.

“Cas ... ”

“Don’t mind me, get back to work,” Castiel insisted, pressing another kiss to the plane of Dean’s stomach.

At the other end of the couch, he could hear Dean settle back into his report.

He nipped at the skin that he’d revealed, careful at first, then a little sloppier, trailing kisses down and along Dean’s hipbones as one hand came up to rest, unassuming, on the denim of his crotch.

There was some interest stirring there, but that wasn’t what Castiel was going for, not yet. As his tongue laved Dean’s skin, he moved that hand down the crease to fondle Dean’s balls through the worn jeans, adding just a little more pressure than he himself would find pleasurable.

It worked.

Dean let out a quiet groan. “Cas ...”

“Aren’t you working?” murmured Castiel, eyes closed, enjoying the texture of Dean’s flesh under his tongue. Dean was fit – Castiel had no idea how Dean managed to get in hours at the gym, but he did, somehow – but he wasn’t carved out of marble, and there was a little give to his stomach that Castiel found delightful.

Above him, he heard Dean sigh, then flip a page.

Slowly, because he was in no rush and he loved the smell of Dean when he was like this, his arousal beginning to gain speed but far away from peaking, he unzipped the other man’s jeans.

Dean wasn’t wearing any underwear, and he popped free of the confines of his pants with an audible sigh. Castiel continued to mouth the tender skin of his groin, inner thigh, and stomach as he pushed the soft denim out of his way, but he didn’t touch anything else, not yet. He was going to take his time with this.

Dean’s dick was dusky and straining but Castiel avoided it, planting kisses above and around while his hand squeezed his balls gently through his jeans.

Only when Dean had begun to regulate his breathing with obvious difficulty did Castiel slip a hand in and – mindful of the metal teeth of the zipper – scoop up Dean’s balls with his bare hand.

Dean’s cock jumped at the touch. It was good, but clearly not enough as Castiel began to rub them – gently at first, then more demanding as the cadence of Dean’s breath increased. The scratch of his red pen had stopped. Castiel trailed a finger delicately back down the soft, velvety skin, and then placed his first kiss at the base of Dean’s shaft.

Generally speaking, Dean was pretty good at this sort of thing – he certainly had more stamina and patience for games than Castiel did – but even pretending to be buried in his papers, he couldn’t help but buck his hips a little. Not much, because he was making an effort to stay focused, but enough that Castiel could tell this was getting to him.

He grinned, and moved his lips back up to Dean’s navel.

There was the noise of crumpling paper and a deep-throated groan of frustration.

“Ugh, _Cas_!”

That was the voice of a man dropping all pretence that he didn’t much care one way or another if his dick got sucked tonight. Castiel grinned, but continued his ministrations to Dean’s thighs and balls without looking up.

Castiel hadn’t brought a wealth of sexual experience or know-how to this relationship. It was safe to say that everything he knew about actively giving

another person pleasure was exclusively Dean-oriented. But this was alright, he figured, from a problem-solving perspective, because it meant that he didn’t worry about _What turns alphas on?_ as much as _What turns Dean on?_ , which meant that he was probably the world’s leading expert on What Dean Winchester Likes Re: Sex.

So he knew that Dean’s preferences were a little more complex than your standard “Tab A into Slot B” alpha fare. Dean liked Castiel’s hands in his hair. He liked Castiel pliant and he liked him demanding. He liked pressing Castiel into the sheets and he liked when Castiel did the same. And he liked when Castiel took initiative – encouraged it enthusiastically.

 _“Takes initiative” should be on my CV_ , Castiel thought.

Castiel wet the tip of Dean’s cock with a generous swirl of his tongue. The pre-come was bitter but Castiel didn’t swallow, just licked it around to leave the fat mushroom head glistening, then pulled away to admire his handiwork. A thin thread of saliva followed him for a moment, before it snapped against his chin. He blew gently and Dean’s cock shivered visibly.

“Ungh! Cas!”

“How’s it going up there?” Castiel asked, conversationally. He raised his head enough to see that Dean was clutching the couch cushion with one hand. His papers lay abandoned on his chest, and he was staring down at Castiel like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or strangle him.

It was a good look on Dean.

He let his lips ghost over the tip of Dean’s cock, press the gentlest kiss to the pretty red skin before they swallowed down – but barely, only centimetres, before they released him again.

“Cas!” Dean shifted underneath him, papers falling off him as he inched up just a little, just enough to change the angle.

“Dean. Help me out here.” Castiel swallowed the tip again, sealing his lips over it only briefly, and looked Dean dead in the eyes as he released it. Dean looked down the length of his body to Castiel, who was resolutely going no further than just the crown of his cock, and groaned.

“Cas, what the hell did I ever do to you – ”

“I need a hand,” Castiel insisted. He took the tip in his mouth again, but this time instead of sealing his lips around the fat head, he let it just rest on the bed of his tongue, wet and heavy and warm.

This time Dean got it. Adjusting his hips carefully, so that he didn’t dislodge Castiel’s frustratingly tenuous hold on his cock, he took a shaky hand and wrapped it around his shaft, fingers just brushing Castiel’s lips.

“This what you had in mind?” he murmured, as he began to stroke. On every stroke, Castiel dipped his head to follow Dean’s hand.

Castiel hummed in agreement as they began to work together.

The coordination made it impossible for Dean to speed up, and Castiel refused to slow down. He was setting an agonizingly inadequate pace, making Dean an instrument of his own torture.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered.

Castiel was trying to be careful about teeth, but he couldn’t help smiling.

For most of his adult life, Castiel had thought of sex – for himself, at least – as a regrettable biological impulse. Even though life with Dean was making him enthusiastically re-evaluate this, he sometimes forgot just how much _Dean_ enjoyed sex. Dean enjoyed it obviously, without caveats or apologies. Dean was as honest and open about sex as he was everything else.

And it still sometimes blindsided Castiel that he was able to do this to Dean, make him whimper for it, make him bite his lip to keep from begging, like he was doing now.

It made him feel humble.

Castiel ran his nails over Dean’s thigh as he watched him through his eyelashes. His alpha was always beautiful, but he was especially beautiful like this: no show, no faking, just honest-to-God pleasure transmitting directly from his dick to the rest of his body.

Dean was getting close: his face was flushed, and his voice shuddered as he spoke. “Fuck, babe, you are _such_ an asshole. This is – I can’t – ”

Cas popped off to murmur cheeky encouragement. “Yes, you can – go on,” he grinned, before ducking back to suck, massaging Dean’s balls with more urgency now, free hand settling on the purpling knot and pressing hard.

They were almost there; Dean’s hand was bumping against his chin with eagerness, and Dean’s hips couldn’t be reined in any longer.

“Jesus, Cas, I’m gonna – I’m gonna – ”

Castiel took pity on him at the last second, pulling off and whispering, “Okay,” and that was it – Dean pumped himself in fast, vigourous strokes, Castiel’s hands firm on his knot.

“Cas! _Cas_!” and he came with a groan and an arcing spurt.

Castiel caught most of it, but by the time Dean was done there was a hot stripe of come along his cheekbone and in his eyelashes, and a trickle down his lips.

Dean was panting, eyes shut, squeezing out the last tremours of his orgasm with a come-splashed hand. Eventually his hand stilled; he opened his eyes and choked out a surprised laugh. “Cas, honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t – ”

“S’okay,” interrupted Castiel with a grin, and brushed Dean’s trembling hands away. “Stay right where you are.” He slipped his lips around Dean’s cock and gently tongued the sensitive flesh, sloppy with come.

Castiel swallowed him loosely and gently, swirling his tongue in a lazy rhythm, guiding him through the sensitivity. He kept his jaw slack and his mouth loose – no pressure, no insistence, just comforting warmth and wetness.

Castiel felt Dean’s hands come in his hair as he nursed Dean’s cock. Fingers sticky with come began to stroke gently up the back of his neck, drawing out tingles wherever they touched.

Eventually, Castiel let Dean slide back to reality. With a gentle touch to Castiel’s jaw, to let him know to slip back and let go, Dean stretched with a groan. He stripped off his shirt, then pushed himself up onto one elbow and reached out with the other hand to bring Castiel up to him. Castiel rose easily, bracing his weight on an elbow and letting Dean settle him at his side, bare skin hot and flushed.

Dean kissed him messily, hand smearing the jizz on Castiel’s face. He used his shirt to clean off Cas’s cheek and jaw, then wiped his own hand. He kept kissing him, clean hand buried in Castiel’s hair, deep, full-mouthed kisses that were whole and lazy and solid.

“I hope you didn’t have any plans for that shirt,” murmured Castiel.

“You know,” said Dean absently, tossing it to the floor, “I think this is actually Sam’s?”

“I thought it was weird you had a Stanford shirt. I thought you went to Penn.”

“I did. There’s still basil in your hair.”

“There’s still _come_ in my hair, now that you mention it.” Dean laughed and Castiel snuggled in tighter next to him, uncomfortable couch be damned.

“But you’re really feeling alright?” asked Dean, after a few moments of warm silence. Whether by accident or intent, his hand was resting against Castiel’s chest, just over his heart. Castiel could feel the heavy warmth of it against his breastbone.

Castiel grinned, because he was. “I feel great.”

_That’s the problem._

Reluctant to move, but increasingly aware of the dangers of neck cricks, Castiel pushed himself off Dean and clambered to his feet. “Come on,” he said. “It’s Tuesday. No late nights tonight.”

Dean threw him a big pair of puppy eyes and looked helplessly at his report, which was now a collection of loose papers, crumpled and scattered over the floor.

“I’ll help you finish it tomorrow morning,” said Castiel, smiling. He reached out a hand and pulled Dean up. “Come on – bed for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, this fic will have more Grown Men Talking About Their Feelings than the previous entry. But it will also have a lot of Grown Men Fucking, so don't worry.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite Castiel’s trepidation, things were going well. It wasn’t exactly that they found a rhythm together – it was more that they found a way to make the chaos work. They were two highly-paid workaholics and they didn’t have much time for dating.

“Good thing we’re screwing around at work, or we’d never see each other,” sighed Dean, on a night when they both stumbled back to Castiel’s apartment past nine.

“We’re technically not screwing around at work,” Castiel pointed out, in between urgent open-mouthed kisses to Dean’s collarbone.

This was true: _no quickies in the office_ was on their list of rules.

“Yeah, _technicalities_ – that’s it, Cas, talk dirty to me,” grinned Dean. His teeth tugged gently at Castiel’s bottom lip as his fingers found their unerring way to the other man’s belt buckle.

“I’ll recite your entire contract if you don’t shut up,” Castiel growled, breaking the embrace so he could tug Dean’s tie off.

Sometimes he marvelled – when he watched Dean covertly at the board room table, or saw him standing in the atrium before a meeting, looking casual and confident as always – that he was the one who got to take Dean’s tie off.

Castiel couldn’t quite wrap his head around how easy it was beginning to feel – how easy Dean made it – to reach out and take exactly what he wanted.

That first Monday, less than a month ago, Castiel had walked into Sandover’s boardroom and slid into the seat at the top of the table next to the man he’d fucked not four hours ago. He’d done it without reservation or self-consciousness, like he belonged there, and he’d realized right then and there that – against the odds – this was going to work. For a while, at least.

Dean wanted this, and Castiel wanted this, and that was all there was to it.

It helped that Castiel was very good at what he did, and threw himself into Dean’s account with enthusiasm. He could be focused and productive in their meetings when he wasn’t dizzy with heat, even if Dean did look distractingly good in a suit.

Dean was a demanding client but he wasn’t stubborn, and he regularly deferred to Castiel’s expertise. It quashed any ideas anybody else on the team might have had about omega docility. Dean’s people took their cues from their boss, and it was clear to anyone with eyes that Dean respected Castiel’s abilities.

“I can’t remember the last time I worked with a group of professionals so determined not to mention the omega thing,” Castiel commented, as they sat at Dean’s desk reviewing minutes. “Did you send around a mass e-mail about were sensitivity?”

“Nobody’s been giving you a hard time, have they?” Dean’s posture was nonchalant but his scent turned spiky, and Castiel recognized the possessive growl in his voice that meant _I will fire someone’s ass if they’ve been bothering you_.

“No, we’re golden. And lay off the alpha voice when we’re at work. It gets me distracted.”

Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Yes, _sir_.”

Really, the only were-flavoured awkwardness that leaked into Castiel’s work life was that every now and then Dean would use that voice and he’d want to keel over. Or Dean would look at him with an impossible smile and those big eyes that clearly said _holy shit that was awesome_ _I am so proud of you_ , and Castiel would flush with pleasure and have to fight the impulse to look down at the table as his omega thumped its figurative tail.

Because Dean was amazing, he really was. He was a hardliner, but people trusted Dean **.** When Dean was on, he could convince even the most cautious investor to have faith in him. He had that brand of confidence that was reassuring until you realized he’d bulldozed his way in and gotten exactly what he wanted, while you’d sat back and let him. Having been sucked into the vortex of Dean’s charm himself, Castiel was always interested to watch it happen to other people.

If anyone on Dean’s side thought it odd that their lawyer spent as much time as he did at Sandover, nobody said anything – and since their time together was producing tangible results, nobody could complain.

No, the real worries came from Castiel’s end – because even if he was able to keep a secret, his scent wasn’t.

“Oh my God, you _didn’t_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel lied, swivelling away from Anna and trying to busy himself with the files she’d brought him.

“You _did_.”

“I _didn’t_ , and more important than whether or not I might have allegedly – ”

“Allegedly! His scent’s all over you!”

“ _Allegedly_ had ... relations with a certain client – ”

“The gorgeous one.”

“ – _more important_ is exactly what it will take for you to never mention it to anybody, especially not Uriel or Zachariah, and especially not Raphael.”

“Are you talking bribery, Mr. Novak?” Anna grinned, settling herself on his desk and leaning forward conspiratorially. She had a dangerous gleam in her eye.

“No,” said Castiel, using his calmest, most neutral voice and well aware that Anna wasn’t buying it at al. “I’m just suggesting that rumours – even if they’re completely erroneous – can be damaging. Since Mr. Winchester is our most important client, and since neither of us want to do anything that would embarrass Mr. Winchester, I would deeply appreciate it if you didn’t let any of these rumours –

“ _Unfounded_ rumours?”

“ – right, yes – _unfounded_ rumours make their way to Raphael.” He paused, then added: “Please.”

“Hmm.” She leaned back on his desk, making a show of considering. “Can I have a company car?”

“Anna, I admire and respect you as a colleague, but Lord in heaven, please don’t make me kill you. Don’t you already have a car?”

“Yes, but it’s not a luxury model.”

“ _I_ don’t drive a luxury car!”

“If BMW came out with an eco-friendly model you’d be all over it. Besides, it’s not me you have to worry about. Every were on the floor’s going to smell him on you. He stands out, you know.”

“I _know_ ,” Castiel gritted through his teeth, “that’s the problem.”

“Well,” she said, smiling sweetly, “alphas never did it for me. I wouldn’t have thought they did much for you, either. Mr. Winchester doesn’t seem like your type. Just goes to show you never can tell, I guess. But you can rest easy – I won’t tell anyone.”

“Really?” Castiel burst out, grateful.

“Cross my heart. And I’ll do what I can to stomp any rumours I hear. But I don’t know how much it will help – I haven’t seen a hickey like that since I was seventeen. And I don’t know what you’re going to do about that smell.”

Castiel wore atrocious aftershave for a week, so heavy even the non-weres twitched their noses at it.

Still, his worry made him sulky and agitated, which he recognized but couldn’t forestall.

“I’ll tell Raphael I’ll only work with you,” Dean said simply, when Castiel came home that night in a huff. “Easy. Problem solved.”

“That won’t solve anything. I don’t want to have to rely on an alpha to fight my battles for me. No offense.”

“None taken. Isn’t it exhausting having principles like that in your line of work?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Castiel said emphatically. “But I might be up for partner in a few years if I don’t screw this up. I can’t have a reputation as the omega who sleeps with his clients.” ~~~~

“You’re not sleeping with your clients – you’re just sleeping with me. Unless there’s something you want to tell me?” Dean looked up from his laptop with mock concern.

Castiel flopped dramatically on the couch. “Everyone’s going to think I got the contract because I had sex with you.”

“Okay, I don’t know a lot about how you guys do things, but isn’t that a little ... badass? Oh, don’t roll your eyes like that, you’ll sprain something.”

Dean flatly refused to put up with the aftershave: “Dude, no.”

Anna was true to her word, however, and nothing happened. Even if Castiel could feel Dean’s scent in his hair and clothing and skin and breath, Raphael never called him into his office with a pained look on his face, and Zachariah never sidled up to him in the hallway with a knowing smirk. Castiel could always trust Zachariah to be an antenna for anything damaging. If anyone wanted to call him out, nobody did, and if there were rumours, none seemed to be reaching Raphael.

Castiel began to relax. Maybe he was a little too high up the ladder now for his colleagues to say anything to his face, not even Naomi from Contracts; maybe Dean Winchester was too important a client for people to want to mess with. If it was an open secret, at least it was still a secret.

“Everyone knows, of course.”

“Anna!”

“Well, what did you expect? He’s Dean freaking Winchester. Whenever he comes in I can smell the electricity. It’s insane.”

“Just ... oh God, can you just keep scheduling our meetings in the off-hours, please?”

“Is that code for hotel rendezvous?”

“ _Anna_!”

“Novak, you’re so far gone I’m surprised even the humans can’t tell you’re mated.”

Castiel snapped his head up so fast it was a mystery he didn’t sprain something. “I’m not mated.”

“Aren’t you? It’s been months!” Anna closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, leaning in closer than was strictly appropriate for a workplace environment. “Huh. I could have sworn ... Guess you’re not, not really. Sometimes it’s hard to tell from a distance. Well. What a modern omega. So, have you had sex in his office yet?”

On the whole, however, having Anna in the know made life easier. Despite her low-level blackmail and her teasing – she seemed to think that having smelled out Castiel’s career-ruining secret entitled her to as much intimate knowledge of Dean Winchester as she wanted – she was, at heart, sympathetic. Sympathetic enough to buy him a small bottle of decent aftershave as an apology present.

It also meant that she was willing to help Castiel out with some of the unique professional wrinkles that came from secretly dating a corporate alpha.

Castiel and Zachariah were in Raphael’s office discussing the new merger when Anna rapped smartly at the door.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s an urgent call for Mr. Novak.”

Anna kept her face blank, but Castiel wasn’t expecting any urgent calls and he knew there was only one good reason why Anna would pull him out of a meeting with Raphael at 11:30 on a Monday morning for an undisclosed phone call.

“Thanks, Anna. Excuse me, sir.” Castiel rose and bolted before he could see Raphael’s face.

“What is it?” Castiel asked once they were out of earshot, leading the way back to his own office.

Anna thrust her phone at him. Not a phone call, then. There was a text from Dean’s PA on the screen. Castiel raised an eyebrow and gave Anna an accusatory glare as he took it from her. “You and Adam text each other now? To complain about us?”

“Just read what it says, omega.”

“Don’t call me that – it’s not cute.” But he read the conversation.

 

Anna: How’s the HWIC?

Adam: hwic crabbier than usual this morning

Adam: you’re a were – any suggestions?

Anna: Starbucks run?

Anna: Godspeed.

Adam: hah hah

Adam: mayday, mayday. finance missed important deadline. winchester pissed.

Adam: update: winchester REALLY pissed. fear for life. send help.

Adam: x_x

Anna: Whiner.

Anna: Anyways, it’s not like it’s your fault.

Adam: no, but I’m IN HIS WAY

Anna: Could send Cas. over on paper clip run. Distract the beast.

Adam: hah hah. rather be working for an omega than an alpha right now. W’s scary when he’s pissed off.

Anna: To be fair, so is Novak. And I don’t work for him, I work for his boss.

Adam: whatever

Adam: SHIT. W just hung up on Singer’s PR guy.

Adam: someone’s going to have to fix that shit and ten bucks says it’s me.

Adam: you sure they didn’t have a fight or something this morning? W’s not normally like this. usually only yells at me once a day – we’re at three so far and it’s not even noon.

 

Castiel looked up from the phone, equal parts annoyed and confused. He met Anna’s knowing gaze with a scowl. “Well, it can’t be. He usually texts me.”

That was true: Dean usually let Castiel know, made sure they could both make it home in time. Except ... oh. Today was an inconvenient day for Dean to go into heat – he had that important meeting with Victor. Castiel checked his watch. Nope, not even time to make it back to Castiel’s apartment. Dean had left it too late now – probably thought he could punch his way through it. He must have done it all the time as a single alpha, probably thought he could do it now, no worries.

 _Idiot_ , Castiel caught himself thinking fondly.

“Is Dean still at work?” he demanded.

“Adam says yes.”

“Alright. We’re going to put a pin in the disturbing fact that you’re keeping track of my sex life – ”

“It’s not like I have an excel spreadsheet, _God_ – ”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Going to buy paperclips?” Anna called after him.

Castiel ignored her and punched the floor for the parkade.

He didn’t run and he didn’t speed, but he had singularity of purpose and made it to Dean’s building in record time. He walked into the atrium, shaking the rain out of his hair – he hadn’t had the good sense to bring an umbrella with him. Several of Dean’s senior staff nodded at him as he made his way to the elevator.

Castiel nodded back and tried to tamp down the edges of the stupid smirk that kept threatening to overtake his face.

Professional, he needed to look professional. Calm. Bored, even.

Besides, he felt a little bad enjoying this.

The elevator dinged and Castiel strode out, purposeful, the way he always did. A quick glance across the anteroom, but Adam wasn’t at his desk, presumably having fled for higher ground or Starbucks. Good. He could see a few people in their offices through the frosted glass windows, but the floor was quiet; it was almost lunchtime. Even better.

It was one of their ground rules: they didn’t fool around at work.

Dean knew that Castiel liked to keep the line between work and play as razor-sharp as possible. Their relationship held serious professional implications for both of them, but Castiel was most vulnerable. Dean didn’t have carte blanche to do what he wanted, but he was the boss and had an entire staff willing to look the other way. Not so for Castiel. A quickie in the office might be nice, but Dean wasn’t about to do something that would put Castiel at risk merely for the sake of “nice.”

But that didn’t mean Castiel couldn’t.

Even if Castiel couldn’t have found Dean’s office by memory, he didn’t need directions – he could have followed his nose.

He knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for an answer before opening it and stepping inside.

Oh, wow. That was a lot of rut scent.

Castiel blinked at the strength of it, felt it sink heavy into his muscles.

Dean looked up from his desk, flushed and tensed and clearly in a shitty mood. Castiel watched his face visibly shift from “What the goddamn hell do you want, I’m _busy_ ” to “Oh.”

Castiel leaned back against the door until it clicked shut. He flipped the lock with a deliberate finger. “Dean,” he said, as casually as if they were meeting to review some files.

Castiel watched, not unaffected, as Dean took a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself.

Despite the bullshit you read in trashy novels and magazines, alphas could actually control their ruts – they weren’t debilitating in the same way omega heats were. Castiel, however, had been paying attention – he was aware that Dean’s were growing more fevered in the months they’d been together. Dean felt things keenly.

He was sweating now, just a little, looking equal parts anxious and hungry. He’d leaned back from the desk, hands tense and spread in front of him, like he was afraid to move. “Jesus Christ, Cas, you shouldn’t be here.” He paused, and then, quietly: “I didn’t want to bring you here.”

 “Don’t swear,” said Castiel. He was going for “mild” but the things Dean’s scent was doing to his brain made it come out more like “wobbly.”

“Why didn’t you text me?” he asked, gently.

There was a guilty pause.

“Dean.”

“You said you were busy with merger talks this week. Didn’t want to bother you.”

“Very sweet of you.”

“ _Cas_. Who told you?”

Castiel shrugged. “People.”

“Cas,” Dean breathed raggedly, running a hand through his hair. Castiel could smell where he must have sweated through his shirt, underneath his jacket.

God, Dean looked amazing in a suit.

“We don’t ... do this,” said Dean, but it was an observation, not an argument. Dean could get mulish around Castiel when he was in rut. He was breathing heavily. A muscle went in his jaw.

Castiel grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “Stop arguing with me. I’m here, aren’t I? It’s fine.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got 34 minutes before your meeting with Victor.”

Dean stared.

“You’re sure?”

“I said it was fine,” Castiel said, trying to keep the anticipation in his tone to a minimum, trying to sound gentle. He realized he was coaxing.

Earlier, Dean might have resisted, but now he just looked at Castiel, long and hard and hungry.

The silence hung between them, heavy and potent.

“Half an hour.”

“Right.”

“Come here.”

Castiel grinned. “Make me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the tease of an ending to Chapter 2 - I meant to post these two chapters together, but it turned out that this one needed just a little more work. Believe me when I say that I never meant to make you wait for porn. :)

When Castiel was in heat, sex was a way for him to feel comforted, reassured – that he was a good boy, that he wasn’t defective, that Dean liked him exactly the way he was. When Castiel was in heat, he was vulnerable, and Dean was careful with him.

This was not that kind of sex.

“Oh fuck,” Dean groaned, voice raw, caught between passion and reverence. His breath was hot and wet on Castiel’s ear and he was clearly too far gone to keep his voice down.

The office door was closed and locked and in the back of Castiel’s mind he knew they needed to be quiet, knew it was vitally important, there were still people who could hear, but he couldn’t make that thought translate into words.

The only thing he managed to utter was, “ _Harder_ , Dean!”

With a grunt Dean obliged, and Castiel gasped at the sharp, pulsing thrusts. There was no hint of the tender, languid pace he and Dean usually settled into – this was impatient and hungry and primal and Castiel was going to feel it in the morning.

Dean was holding nothing back. Castiel was pinned down to the desk, stomach flat against the surface, hips braced against the edge by Dean’s unyielding hips. Their pants were undone just far enough to give Dean access – that and a little bit of lube was all he’d been capable of before flipping Castiel over. There was a belt buckle pressing into Castiel’s thigh and his legs were trembling, aching to be spread wider, but he couldn’t push his pants down far enough – but details like that were irrelevant now.

He gripped the edge of the desk tighter as Dean thrust desperately against him, broad forearm stretched across his back, holding him down effortlessly. Three layers of clothing between Dean’s hand and his back, yet Castiel could feel the heat of him, the way his fingers were gripping the fabric of his jacket, the way Dean couldn’t quite keep his arm from shaking when he had Castiel like this.

“Cas,” Dean managed, low and dirty.

The solid wood desk quaked with every thrust. There were pens and files scattered across the room and crumpled paper was ripping under his fingers but none of that mattered because Dean’s perfect dick was sliding hard and unrelenting inside him and it was everything he could do not to groan with the fierce ache of it all. Not enough lube, but somehow, that was okay, too.

It was messy and too loud and the friction was almost unbearable and Castiel couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He wasn’t sure if it was pleasure in watching Dean lose control like this, or the second-hand high, but Castiel loved it when Dean was in rut.

“That all you got?” he gasped. His own hands were sweaty and slippery against the surface of the desk, but he readjusted them for leverage and pushed his body back against Dean’s next thrust. It was hard to push when he was held captive under Dean’s weight, but his effort was rewarded – Dean growled in surprise at the unexpected change in angle and he responded with a vigour that made Castiel see stars.

Dean managed to push Castiel’s pants down further, spread his legs and _oh yes_ , that made everything better – but Castiel didn’t have a moment to relax.

“You – think – you’re – so clever,” Dean rasped against his ear, growling with every brutal cant of his hips.

Castiel’s own dick was pressing hard and painful into the sharp angles of the desk, but a shiver of pure lust shot through him at the roughness in Dean’s voice. His alpha was sweating and snarling and _close_ and Castiel doubled down, determined to push him further.

He tilted his head back to grin. “Am clever,” he managed, panting. “Clever and you know it.”

Castiel was the pushiest bottom when Dean was in rut, partially because Castiel never could learn to do things the easy way, but mostly because Dean was magnificent when he rose to a challenge.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He pulled Castiel up by the scruff of the neck – not enough to hurt but just enough to take him to the limit of acceptable pain – and kissed him. His mouth was hot and punishing on Castiel’s, bruising in its intensity.

Dean’s teeth were sharp on his throat but Castiel trusted him completely. Dean had never bitten him. Nibbles and nips, yes, but not the deep, passionate sinking-in of teeth you saw in the movies. Dean let his teeth scrape over Castiel’s neck, and Castiel let him, knowing he had nothing to fear.

The scent-rush was incredible: Dean smelled like fury and thunder and swift hunts down icy hills. He smelled like the roiling temperature spike before the lightning cracks. And if it made Castiel feel powerful like this, with Dean’s scent inside him and Dean’s arms bracketing his body, then he could only imagine how Dean felt with that kind of lust pumping through his veins.

 _This_ was Dean, powerful and in charge and _taking_ , and he wanted Castiel, and goddamn but Castiel was going to give it to him, whatever it was, whatever he wanted, because Dean wanted _him_ and Castiel couldn’t remember anything making him feel like he felt knowing that Dean’s hindbrain was screaming for him.

Dean pulled back and Castiel couldn’t help but gasp: his eyes were dark and there was a trail of sweat down his brow and he was _beautiful_. The air was crackling between them.

“Are you going to fuck me, or are you going to play around all day?” whispered Castiel, reaching in as far as he could and digging, looking for that place inside Dean that made him tick, that place he rarely went, rarely allowed himself to go.

Dean didn’t disappoint. Bringing the full weight of his body to work, Dean resumed his thrusting, whip-sharp, pulling noises out of Castiel’s throat that he didn’t know he could make.

“Oh! Oh, God!” Castiel lost his grip on the table with Dean’s next thrust and sent something skittering to the ground. There was no more room between him and the desk, nowhere else to go, just him and Dean and Dean pressing so close that Castiel could barely breathe with the pressure of it. Dean’s breath hot against his ear, Dean’s forearm braced along his back, Dean’s scent heavy and dangerous inside his brain. Castiel could sense Dean’s blood rising to a fever pitch as he moved inside him. With every stroke of that delicious cock, Castiel knew Dean was coming closer to falling.

He gripped Dean’s wrist with a sweaty hand. “Couch, we need to get to the couch.”

Dean kept his temple pressed tight to Castiel’s, unable to process, brain clouded with heat. “No, need – I want – ”

“Dean, couch, _now_!”

No matter how tight a grip Dean’s alpha instincts had on him, Castiel’s grip was tighter. With a jerk that made Castiel cry aloud at the absence, Dean pulled out. Before Castiel could climb to his shaking legs, Dean had him. It was only a few steps from around the desk, a few more to the couch. There were a few seconds of fumbling – “ _Coats_ , Dean, come on, lemme get your coat off – ” then Castiel fell down into position – _like a good boy_ – and grinned as Dean let out a primal sound and lined himself up and then _oh God yes_ he was inside Castiel again, just like he should be, thrusting hard, knot slapping heavy and hot against Castiel’s entrance.

Dean’s scent in his lungs and one hand on his back and the other scooping around to cup his cock roughly and oh, God, it shouldn’t have been that good but it _was_. Nothing about this should be as good as it felt – this was too good to be real –

“Cas, I’m gonna – Cas – ”

“Yeah, I got you Dean, I got you ... Go on ...”

Castiel wasn’t flimsy but he couldn’t stand up against Dean’s orgasm, not when he was in rut, and he let Dean pull him down, collapsed underneath him gratefully as Dean filled him hot and wet, knot quivering against his ass cheeks.

Dean’s climax was spiking hard into Castiel’s brain – his own orgasm was an afterthought, a soft, simple sigh of contentment as he let Dean’s scent wash through him.

No knotting, though – knotting was for mates.

Castiel felt the familiar stab of guilt in his belly, and forced the thought away.

Not here, not today. They were safe here.

After a few moments of unashamed panting, Castiel reached behind himself to take Dean’s hand in his own and Dean gripped it tight, groaning. Castiel grinned, a little devilishly, and with an effort he didn’t know he could make he raised his sore hips as far as he was able and squeezed.

“Ah, fuck!” hissed Dean, coming again in a heavy spurt.

Castiel couldn’t see Dean’s face but he could imagine it – green eyes wide in surprise for the briefest of moments before they squeezed shut, that lush mouth parting with a sigh.

Castiel gave a whole-body shiver under Dean’s weight and surrendered, finally, to gravity. Dean held Castiel’s hand in his and Castiel waited for both of them to come down from their respective highs.

He could already feel the places he’d been stretched. In a few hours, he was going to be hurting. It was worth it.

Alpha ruts weren’t like omega heats. They were brief and relatively painless, but they could hit a person like a hammer – one of the many reasons alphas still sometimes had problems getting ahead in the professional world. Most modern workplaces just weren’t understanding of the need for urgent sex breaks.

Dean’s first rut of their relationship hadn’t been like this, though.

Castiel would be the first to admit that he hadn’t been looking forward to it. He’d remembered his own experiences with ruts and they hadn’t been fun. But he’d forced himself to calm down: this was Dean, Dean who’d made him a bookcase from scratch and who argued with him about cartoon shows and who never for an instant even thought to ask Castiel if he wanted to quit his job before they started dating. Dean, who loved his coffee and who forced him to drink water when he started pinching the bridge of his nose.

In any case, before Castiel could voice his anxieties, Dean had got there first, yammering on anxiously about consent and open channels of communication, and even after they’d talked things over Dean had been cautious and tentative, almost reluctant. Castiel was pretty sure he’d have fallen in love with the alpha right then if he hadn’t been head over heels for him already. When Dean’s heat had hit him, about a month into their relationship, Castiel had had to coax him, just a little, just enough to convince him that he was really okay, and the game had stuck.

And Castiel, to his own surprise, found it ... well, _fun_. He wasn’t the one losing control, but neither was Dean, not really – as with most alphas, rut was just an excuse. It was thrilling to know much Dean wanted him, to see Dean letting go. ButCastiel liked this part best, afterwards, watching Dean’s hand relax from a knotted fist to an upturned palm.

This was Dean, too.

Castiel pushed himself up slowly, arms shaky from being braced against the desk, and flopped back down around to face his alpha.

“Hey,” rasped Dean, raising a heavy hand to push the hair from his omega’s face.

Castiel smiled. “Hey yourself.”

He slipped his hands down to massage Dean’s unattended knot, still swollen and purple. Dean hissed – his cock was sensitive – “Sorry, sorry,” whispered Castiel, pressing apologetic kisses to Dean’s neck and the hollow of his throat. He let his fingers wrap gently around the trembling flesh, tightened his grip ever-so-slightly on the slippery knot.

He met Dean’s eyes as his hands began to move, gently, not demanding, just enough. Dean kissed him, sensitive and aching, as Castiel coaxed the final orgasm out of him.

Dean came with a sigh against Castiel’s shirt.

Dean was beautiful like this.

The minutes floated by, unheeded.

“So,” Castiel said eventually, gentle, “heard you were in a pissy mood today. What happened?”

Omega heats corresponded to a complicated index of health indicators and zones of peak fertility, but alpha ruts were reactionary, simple. They could be triggered by mate availability or scent or even just periods of intense emotion, and Dean’s had been getting worse lately.

Dean pressed his nose into Castiel’s neck, breathing in the scent he found there. “Yeah,” he sighed. “M’going to have to apologize to Adam.”

Castiel kissed his hand. “Are you okay? What do you want?” he murmured, because Dean was still coming down from his high. He needed to feel needed, to assuage the big protective alpha instincts. “What do you need?”

“You,” whined Dean, weirdly high-pitched. “You, you, you.” He gnawed lazily at Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel laughed. Dean could sometimes be a giant brat.

Castiel pushed his hands through Dean’s scrubby hair. “Well, you’ve got me.”

“Mmm. You smell like rain.”

“Forgot my umbrella. You’ve got ... four minutes before you need to leave to meet Victor for lunch.”

“Come with us,” Dean murmured. “I want you to meet Victor. You’ll like him.”

He still sounded woozy, but he slipped a hand around the back of Castiel’s waist and pulled him in close, with total disregard for their wet shirtfronts. Castiel let his head drop onto Dean’s chest and listened to his racing heart. Strong, strong, strong.

“Sure that’s a good idea?” Castiel mumbled against Dean’s shirt. “We both smell like rut.”

“He’s not a were.”

“We’d be leaving the office together.”

Dean stretched, his body flexing against Castiel’s. “Who’s going to say anything?”

“ _Adam_ ,” Castiel said emphatically.

“Okay, this is why we don’t do this in the office.” There was comfortable silence for a moment, then: “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sprain anything?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious. Why don’t you move in with me?”

_Oh._

“Cas?” Dean prompted. “Sort of leaving me hanging here, buddy.”

“Sorry. Um ... yes. Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Yes,” Castiel said slowly, wrapping his head around the idea. “Sounds good. I guess I’d have to sublet. Hey, listen, I like my place – maybe you could move in with me?”

“It’s a thought. Would you trust me to know that I’m not being an overbearing alpha if I point out that my apartment’s way nicer?”

“Mine’s closer. More convenient.” He tugged at Dean’s semen-dampened shirt to illustrate his point.

“Yeah, but when we’re mated it’ll be easier to synch up and we won’t need to worry about unexpected heats.”

Castiel sat up, pulling away from Dean with a jerk. “We’re not mated.” His voice sounded sharp and too loud in the quiet room, and he could see the surprise, the hurt on Dean’s face. He hastened to correct it, stumbling over his words in a rush. “We might not synch up, Dean. I’ve been on suppressants for a long time. It does stuff – ”

“Cas,” and Dean was irritated now, Castiel could see it in his eyes. “I _know_. I don’t care if we can’t synch – lots of weres don’t match up perfectly at first. You know I don’t care about that. Hell, I don’t care if you have to go back on your meds. You’re avoiding the issue.”

“What, that I want to move in?” Castiel asked testily, but Dean wasn’t put off.

“That I can’t say the ‘M’ word without you jumping a foot in the air.”

There was an angry challenge in Dean’s voice that he hadn’t bothered to hide, and it made Castiel’s hackles rise.

“ _Now_ you’re being an overbearing alpha. Why is it so important to you?”

“It’s not a crazy thing to want to know,” said Dean, voice clipped. His scent was creeping up sour and bitter now. Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position, so that he and Castiel were sitting eye-to-eye. “It’s actually a pretty damn reasonable thing to ask. Most guys would probably want to know if their boyfriend didn’t want to mate with them.”

Was that what he thought?

_Of course, you idiot, what else would he think?_

“Are we going to argue about this now?” he snapped. “You’re late.”

“We never argue about it – we might as well start sometime.” Hearing the bitterness in his own voice, Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer.

“I know we haven’t ... really ... discussed mating. Or, you know, any of this. I know you want to take things slow. But we’ve been going slow. It’s been months. We have to talk about it someday.”

“I didn’t know it meant that much to you,” Castiel lied, in an attempt to feign indifference. He knew he wasn’t fooling Dean, but Dean let it pass, unwilling to call him on it.

He just sighed, low and heavy, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Are you ever going to want to?” he asked bleakly, meeting Castiel dead in the eye.

Castiel stared at the wall. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about the future. It was good, what they had – arguing about contracts, making dinner together, having great sex – hell, having boring sex. It was normal and banal and absolutely perfect and Castiel wanted to snap his fingers and freeze everything just like this, before they’d got into this stupid fight.

“If you weren’t an alpha and I weren’t an omega, we’d be taking it even slower,” he said cautiously. “Dean, I really like you, but we’re strangers. We’ve only known each other a few months.”

“So what?” Dean bit back, clearly piqued. “We’re dating now. It’s _working_. When something works like this, you don’t start chopping it to pieces to fit under the microscope, you just roll with it.”

“I’m not going to just _roll with this_ ,” Castiel said acidly. He was perversely grateful for something to grab onto in his sea of guilt. “It’s important.” He looked down at Dean’s face, and softened as quickly as he’d bristled. “You’re ... important to me. And I’m not going to just jump into this thing with you without – ”

He stopped abruptly at the expression on Dean’s face. Castiel let his head fall into his hand and was silent.

 _Bad boy_.

Dean put his hand on Castiel’s leg, and Castiel leaned into the touch, to let Dean know he wasn’t mad at him, just upset, just frustrated. His chest was tight and he knew Dean could feel it.

After a moment, Dean spoke. “Cas, you don’t have to worry about this. I’m a sure thing.” His voice was firm, like he could persuade Castiel on the strength of his own conviction.

Castiel was pretty sure he was going to sob. “I know.”

“I just ... can you help me understand why you don’t want to?” Dean edged, gently. “Is there something wrong? Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

Castiel felt a cold trickle in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t fair. Dean deserved better.

“No,” he said quietly, turning to look at Dean. He was dishevelled from the rut and underneath his frustration, his scent still carried the traces of a satisfied heat. Castiel had done that. That was all him. He felt a flicker of comfort at the reminder. “Dean, it’s nothing to do with you. You’re perfect.” And even though he sort of wanted to cry, he smiled, because it was true.

“Cas, I’m sorry I asked.”

Castiel leaned across and hugged him and Dean took him in gratefully, because there was nothing to be said, no way to accept an apology that shouldn’t have to be made – Dean had been so patient.

All this fuss about mating. For some, mating happened quick as lightning. For some it was a conscious decision, and for others an accident. For many, a mistake – making a blood bond through a mating bite had more to do with hormones than romance or compatibility, after all. It might have made sense back in the day when weres roamed the primordial forests in packs, but it wasn’t the best set-up for two professionals whose only wolfish tendencies were to prefer their steaks rare. And yet – here they were.

Dean shifted his weight and pulled Castiel in closer. Dean ran his hand over the place on Castiel’s shoulder where the scars were. He couldn’t feel the gentle pressure or the heat of Dean’s fingers; the nerve damage was just a little too deep.

“I’m not him, Cas,” Dean whispered. “Whoever he was, I’m not him.”

“I know.”

_But I’m still me._

Castiel pushed himself gently out of Dean’s embrace and looked at him. “Dean, I know this probably isn’t the best time for this, but I really, really love you.”

“Oh?” asked Dean, with a cocky tilt of his head. “I thought you just ‘liked’ me.”

“I said ‘really liked’.” Castiel pressed his head to Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. But I love you. Just thought you should know.”

Dean pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s all I care about.”

Castiel didn’t need Dean to say it – he knew Dean loved him, knew he wanted to mate him because he loved him. The only thing standing in the way of Dean’s happy life with Castiel was Castiel.

Quietly, so quietly he could barely hear himself speak above the steady pulse of Dean’s heart, he whispered, “Please don’t leave me.”

He felt Dean tense, felt the anxiety spiral in Dean’s scent, but his alpha didn’t say anything, didn’t burden him with reassurances, just hugged him closer. He felt the anxiety in Dean’s arms and Castiel let himself want Dean to take care of him, just for a minute.

Then the minute passed. “Okay. You are now ... eleven minutes late.”

Dean stood up with a groan. “Alright, alright, you slave driver, I’ll text him.”

Dean shucked his shirt and grabbed a fresh one from his stash in the closet; Castiel, who wasn’t as badly off, made do with some wet-wipes, then resignedly buttoned up his jacket over the worst of it.

“Come on,” said Dean, pulling Castiel up off the couch and brushing his hair back into place. “I’m starving and Victor’s buying.” Alphas were usually hungry after rut. “You’ll like Victor. He’s fun.”

“I don’t think you should be choosing your contractors because they’re ‘fun’.”

Dean rolled his eyes hard. “Well, it’s sure good to know that we’re _married_ even if we aren’t mated.”

As they were leaving the office, Dean paused. “Will you let me know when you’re ready to talk about this again? I mean, we both know how much I love ‘relationship conversations,’ but ... I need to know.”

“Yes,” said Castiel. It was easier to commit to something in the vague future, but he thought he probably meant it.

“Fight over?”

“Yes. Relationship conversation over.” Castiel smiled, and kissed Dean one last time before they entered the real world. “Come on – I need a beer.”

“Don’t get too relaxed,” said Dean, opening the door, “I told Victor you were kind of a badass. I’d hate to disappoint him.”

Castiel laughed, and tried not to look at Adam, who was sitting in his proper place at the reception desk with his head bowed, texting furiously.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was determined to take it slow.

Well, whatever “slow” meant for two men who’d heat-fucked each other the day they’d met.

Dean was used to having things his way. He liked to think of himself as a normal guy, maybe a bit Type A, but definitely not a traditional alpha. He knew, though, that being an alpha meant that the world looked at him differently, treated him differently, human and were alike. Maybe this had helped him in life and maybe it hadn’t, but he was used to having things his way. He saw what he wanted and he made it happen.

This thing with Cas wasn’t that simple.

It had been going so well at first that Dean hadn’t thought to ask if everything was alright, he’d just assumed it was.

But if Cas wasn’t able to handle a Big Conversation – if he was still silently freaking out about mating – then they were going to take it slow. No pressure.

Besides, Cas was pretty vocal; he didn’t usually keep things from Dean. If Cas wasn’t spilling, then he wasn’t ready yet, plain and simple.

And in the meantime, Cas had effectively moved in.

“Your place _is_ nicer,” he’d said with a shrug, gracefully ceding the argument.

This was inarguably true. Money wasn’t a thing either of them often brought up, but Dean had more of it.

“Besides,” Dean said, hunting fruitlessly through his closet, “I think most of your shit’s here already. You’ve taken over my closet – where the hell are my ties?”

“On the back of the door. No, no, don’t wear that one – who told you you could wear a red tie with that suit?”

“You can wear a red tie with any suit.”

Cas scrunched his face like he was trying to purge Dean’s comment from the time-space continuum. “Take one of my gray ones.”

Without waiting for Dean to respond, Cas pulled the red tie out of Dean’s fingers and slipped another one around his neck, deftly knotting the heavy silk.

“Careful – you get any more domestic on me and you’re going to start nesting.”

Cas rolled his eyes.

There was no question of nesting, because Cas was neat and meticulous and the thought of snuggling down and wasting whole days cuddling when there were files to be read was anathema to him, like holy water to a demon, but the fact that they could joke about it meant that Cas was relaxing, which meant that Dean could relax.

It was an alpha thing to need to know your mate was taken care of. Dean didn’t have truck with the school of thought that said omegas needed their mates to coddle them, and even if he had, he was pretty sure Cas would have whupped him, but he _was_ an alpha and he _did_ need to know that Cas was happy.

He needed to know that his mate – well, whatever Cas was, he was as good as his mate – was taken care of.

Sometimes, on one those rare mornings when Dean woke up before Cas, he rolled over and watched Cas’s face relaxed in sleep, and his chest would tense up with a pleasant ache that sort of felt like a sob. _His, his, his._ Cas was his.

And if Cas didn’t want to mate, didn’t want the blood bond, then that was fine – Dean was cool with that. It didn’t _mean_ anything. That archaic bullshit didn’t have to have anything to do with their relationship.

Their relationship was fine. It was ordering pizza at 2am when they were in crunch time. It was Cas falling asleep against him on the couch, tablet still in his hands. It was Cas getting all prickly when Dean worked late, because Dean got headaches when he didn’t get enough sleep, and making him drink orange juice before he had his coffee so he’d get enough vitamin C. It was Cas fighting with him over pillows like they were goddamn teenagers.

They didn’t need a blood bond to make that all count.

Cas had told him their first night together that he didn’t like teeth. True, he’d been so aching and desperate that he would have taken them if Dean had wanted to bite, but Dean had felt Cas’s body freeze, smelled the bleak submission in his scent, and knew he didn’t ever want to make Cas feel that way again. And that was that.

It was just ... mating also meant commitment and caring and a future together and even if those weren’t words Dean used on a regular basis, not even in the privacy of his own head, he’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t what he wanted. But Cas seemed as allergic to that conversation as he was to talking about mating.

Even if Cas was a goner for him.

Even if Cas loved him.

Dean wasn’t an idiot – he knew Cas wasn’t letting himself think about a future with Dean. For a man whose long-term plans included responsibility for millions of his clients’ dollars and some serious professional advancement, “not thinking about it” was a pretty big red flag.

So Dean was taking it slow.

 

Perversely, moving in together somehow meant that they were seeing even less of each other. Cas’s work at Sandover was finally thinning down to a steady stream and he was busy with new accounts at the firm. He was beginning to stay later at the office to deal with the influx. It was comforting to have Cas’s warm weight at his back every night, but Dean was beginning to ache for some quality time during waking hours.

With that end in mind, he recalled that Cas’s meeting tonight was scheduled to end at 6:30. He abandoned his own work at his desk, told Adam he wasn’t answering any more calls, and had dinner in the oven by the time Cas dropped his keys in the bowl in the hall.

Cas dumped his things unceremoniously on the floor and schluffed off his suit jacket before face-planting onto the couch.

“Bad day?” asked Dean, grabbing beer from the fridge.

Cas mumbled something incoherent, but it didn’t sound polite.

“I can’t hear you when you talk into the pillow, you dork.”

He tapped the back of Cas’s sweaty neck with the cold base of a beer can. Cas moaned and raised his head a few inches.

“Gimme. Wait – Dean – this is Coors,” he said accusatorily. “Did you buy Coors? Why did you do that to me?”

“It’s cheap, Cas,” said Dean, settling himself on the coffee table. He cracked his own can and took a swig.

“I know how much your company made last quarter – you don’t need to buy Coors.”

“Beer’s beer. It tastes exactly the same as that microbrew shit you like.”

Castiel opened his mouth to respond before he realized that Dean was needling him. He shook his head and took a long sip, then made a face.

“Dean, I love you, but this tastes like piss.”

“S’an old habit,” Dean explained, smiling, because even though “I love you” was new to them, when it fell off of Cas’s tongue it sounded like the most natural thing in the world. “I buy cheap beer ‘cause Dad always bought cheap beer, not because I don’t have taste buds.” He moved from his perch on the coffee table to settle down on the couch beside Cas’s head.

It was Cas’s couch, rescued from his now-mostly-empty apartment – Cas had insisted. He’d flatly refused to put up with one more Netflix marathon on Dean’s uncomfortable sofa. Dean had called Cas a whiner, but he had to admit it felt good to snuggle up next to a body on a couch that wasn’t actively trying to destroy your spine with its crossbeams.

Dean let his hand fall heavy into Cas’s hair. “Spill. What kind of bad mood are you in?”

“The regular kind.”

“I mean, do you want me to leave you alone while you sulk, or do you want me to give you a neck rub and you can tell me about it?”

Cas nudged Dean’s thigh with his head. “You should probably rub my neck, and I’ll overlook the fact that you’re making me drink ditch water.”

Head skritches were back on the menu, then.

“I made you dinner too, you ingrate,” he said with a smile, but Cas ignored him, nudging his thigh insistently.

Dean let his hand slide down to stroke the sensitive skin beneath Cas’s collar. He trailed his fingers softly but surely over the lean nape of his neck, down beside the throat, behind the ears, and then raked them back up. His fingers pulled through the thick hair, making short work of Cas’s styling, happily tugging it in all the wrong directions.

Dean felt the tension gradually evaporate from Cas’s neck, smelled his scent even out and warm up.

“So what happened?” he asked, dragging the blunt ends of his fingers over Cas’s skin.

Dean wasn’t sure Cas had even heard the question, but after several moments, Cas sighed. “Nothing, really,” he said, in a voice that was low and slurred, so deliciously mellow that it sent provocative signals to Dean’s insides. “Just a tedious day. And I had a ... disagreement with one of your associates.”

“Disagreement? You? Never.”

“Well, not a disagreement, per se.”

“Was this Gordon?”

“Yes, which is why I wasn’t going to say anything. I know you like him.” Cas stretched and shifted so that Dean could slip his hand down to massage his trapezius muscles.

Dean frowned. He did like Gordon – they went way back. Strong opinions sometimes, but a solid partner, a good man to have on your team.

“What happened?”

“It wasn’t anything major,” Cas said, neutrally. Dean seemed to have massaged the grump out. “Just the usual. He made an off-colour joke about going down on all fours or something equally asinine, I didn’t respond, tried to get us back on track, he told me to lighten up and not be such an uppity breeder, I let it slide, and – ”

Dean couldn’t stop himself from interrupting. “He called you a _what_?”

Cas shifted onto his back, and Dean was surprised to see a slight smile on his face. “What, never heard it before? He was joking. Or at least he would’ve said he was joking if I’d called him on it.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you? It’s not like you to take shit.”

“And lose Kubrick? He’d have gone back to the office and told them not to bother. Of course,” Cas said, contemplatively, “he probably went back to the office and said I was a stuck-up omega anyways, but there’s no helping that. Anyways, he’s on board and he’s coming to the general on Friday, so you’re welcome.”

Dean let out an irritated exhale. “You think he meant it?”

“Of course he meant it. I don’t know anyone who uses that word who doesn’t mean it. If you didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t use it.” Cas frowned as he looked at Dean’s expression. “You’re really upset by this, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m upset, Cas. I can’t believe Gordon said that to you.”

“I can.” Cas gave him a comforting smile. “Dean, this happens all the time.”

“People call you a – use that word all the time?”

“What, uppity? Not infrequently.”

“ _Cas_.”

“Dean, every day I work with colleagues and clients who think I’m less competent because I’m an omega. And they’re not assholes – they’re regular people. Does it annoy me? Yes. Is it unfair? Yes. It’s part of doing business. I have my clients to think of, and my firm. I just have to let it slide. Believe me, this isn’t even the worst thing I’ve had to deal with this week. I work with Uriel.” Cas’s speech had the rhythm of a practiced piece, something he’d had to explain more than once.

That made it worse. “How are you so calm about it?”

Cas put his hand in Dean’s and gave it a friendly squeeze. “Because A, you just gave me an amazing massage, and B, I’ve been dealing with assholes like that since undergrad. I’m used to it. It’s frustrating, but it happens, and the world spins on. I didn’t realize it would upset you that much.”

Dean let his hand fall to stroke Cas’s temple and clamped down his next words. Because on some level he’d known what Cas went through at work, but he hadn’t _known_ , and he should have. And now here he was, pissed off about something that shouldn’t have happened, from the mouth of a friend no less, that Cas was taking in stride, because it was no different from any other day for him.

“We’ll cancel on Kubrick,” he said, with alpha impetuosity.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cas said patiently. “Do you have any idea how much that would cost you?”

“I don’t want to do business with someone who treats you like that.”

Cas gave him a piercing look. “Are you mad because he insulted omegas, or because he insulted your boyfriend?”

Dean stopped short.

“If you fired everyone who’d ever made a joke about omegas, you’d have an empty board room. I’m not saying it’s okay, I’m saying it’s the way it is. For now.”

Dean lapsed into grumpy silence.

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Cas, sitting up, “it’s nice having you angry on my behalf.”

“Should I have a talk with Gordon?”

“Do you think it would help?”

“Point taken. Are you sure we can’t just cancel?”

“You need him.”

“Well,” said Dean, boxed in, “that’s incredibly frustrating.”

“You’re telling me.” Cas smiled. “But it’s nice to know that however many people are rude to me, you’ll be there to help me fantasize about firing them after.”

“So we can’t actually fire him?”

“Only if he ups his rates.”

 

After dinner, Cas put on his game face and returned Raphael’s missed calls. He was on the phone when Dean did the dishes, when Dean got back from his jog, when Dean changed into his pyjamas after showering.

At ten-thirty, Dean tugged Cas off the couch, phone still plastered to his ear and arms full of papers, and pushed him into their bedroom.

Cas was still absorbed in a conversation about market ripples, but sat down on the bed and kicked his shoes off as a concession to domesticity. Dean felt that was victory enough for the moment, and went to brush his teeth.

At eleven, Dean looked up from where he was using Cas’s stomach as a prop for his book. Cas was still fully dressed and buttoned, and was drawing out rough lists, brow furrowed.

 _It’s the biggest industry shake-up in a decade, Dean_ , Cas had explained, when Dean had begun to grumble about Cas’s increasingly late nights. _We’re poised to capitalize on it if we can keep it under our hats for a few more weeks._

“This is highly confidential, Novak,” Dean heard Raphael’s voice say. “They’re Sandover’s biggest competitor – they can’t afford to go public with this yet.” Dean rolled his eyes; the man must have been stressed out or exhausted or both, because that was the third time Dean had overheard him say it. As far as Dean could make out, the entire conversation had become circular.

But Cas was perfectly patient as he responded. “Yes sir, I know, we’re on the same page.” He put his hand to the receiver and said, in a low voice, “You’re not hearing this, right, Dean?”

“Nope, definitely not,” Dean replied, flipping a page.

“Good. No sir, I’m right here. Listen, if we return to my original idea ...”

Cas was a machine – he could go all night, around and around.

Dean groaned inwardly – maybe they were going to. Neither of them was showing any signs of stopping.

Dean pushed his book aside and moved up the bed next to Cas.

“I thought we said no more late nights,” he murmured, letting his lips touch the shell of Cas’s ear. Cas shivered unexpectedly, like he’d already forgotten Dean was there.

“This is important,” Cas whispered under his breath.

“So is this,” said Dean, licking the line of Cas’s ear.

Cas shoved him away, rolling his eyes. He groaned quietly as the movement caused his papers to scatter down off his legs and onto the floor. He reached down to grab them, but Dean stopped him with a hand to his chest.

Slowly, insistently, Dean pushed him back to lean against the headboard.

Cas quirked an eyebrow at him, questioning.

“What are you doing?” he mouthed.

Dean let the corner of his mouth curl up into a smirk.

“What does it look like?”

He shifted back down the bed and, without breaking eye contact, began to undo Cas’s belt.

Cas’s eyes widened.

“Dean,” he hissed, shimmying his hips in protest as Dean popped open his pants button and pulled down his zipper. “Dean!”

Dean pretended to pay him no attention. With a few quick tugs, he had Cas’s shirt pulled up to mid-abdomen and his pants pulled down below his hips. With a raunchy grin, Dean slowly, slowly pulled the band of his underwear down to bare his cock.

Cas bit his lip as the cool bedroom air hit his sensitive flesh.

Somewhere up above him, Raphael’s voice droned on, undeterred.

Dean hadn’t ever put the thought into so many words, but he was a serious fan of Cas’s cock. He’d never been a particular admirer of the petite omega thing, but there was something about Cas’s, soft and rounded and rosy, so different from the rest of his lean angles, that Dean loved.

And it was waking up now.

Dean pressed a kiss to the thatch of Cas’s abdomen and Cas gulped. He blocked the receiver with his hand and said in an aggravated whisper, “Dean, what the absolute hell are you doing?” He was trying and failing to coax some anger into his tone. “Are you trying to get me fired?”

“Nope.” He nuzzled Cas’s warm belly, scratching his fingers through the sparse hair on his thighs. “You gonna hang up?”

“I’m not going to hang up on my boss.”

“It’s past eleven,” Dean pointed out reasonably, nipping and nuzzling his way along Cas’s inner thighs. “You’re not getting anything done, anyways – he’s just ranting.”

“I’m not hanging up on him.”

Dean was comfortably settled with his weight on Cas’s legs, and Cas’s cock was plump and fully aroused now, interested despite Cas’s efforts to stay focused. Dean pressed a kiss to its wet head. Cas groaned at the teasing pressure, unable to keep his voice down. Dean grinned.

He pulled off to breathe heavily against Cas’s cock, just to annoy him, before dipping down and taking it in his mouth again, easy as pie.

He didn’t do this enough, he decided, as Cas twisted his fingers in his hair, unsure if he wanted to pull away or push down. Cas deserved this every day. He was making such interesting whimpering sounds, simultaneously frustrated and aroused.

Dean let go and licked a wide stripe up the underside of Cas’s balls. “Mr. Winchester, how does it make you feel knowing that your boyfriend would rather talk to his boss than get a blowjob – ”

“You’re such a jerk – I’m going to – ”

“Novak? Are you still there?”

Dean and Cas froze.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Dean met Cas’s eyes – for a moment, there was only the sound of Cas’s breathing – then Dean raised an eyebrow.

Cas swallowed, and then – slowly – he nodded. Cautiously, he put the phone back to his ear. “I’m still here, sir,” he said in a hoarse voice, locking eyes with Dean. His legs spread a little wider underneath Dean’s hands. “Go on.”

Dean didn’t hesitate – he swallowed Cas down, and felt a surge of pride at his omega’s self-control as Cas caught the gasp in his throat.

Dean swirled his tongue around Cas’s cock, deliberately sloppy. He pulled at Cas’s pants, forced his legs wider to give him better access. He felt Cas’s free hand settle in his hair as he licked and slurped, grinning as Cas’s legs began to tremble.

Dean loved going down on him, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to get Cas to accept blowjobs. Despite the I-do-what-I-want-I’m-my-own-omega thing, Cas still sometimes needed to be coaxed into accepting the fact that Dean did genuinely want to lavish pleasure on him. But that was alright, because Dean could do this all day.

Judging from his reactions, though, he wasn’t going to have to.

Above him, Cas was fighting valiantly to keep Raphael occupied, but there were hitches in his breathing and he was beginning to stammer through his responses.

Dean upped the stakes. He pulled away, wiping the drool from his chin.

“You’re so hard for me, baby,” he moaned, voice low but powerful enough to carry if he wasn’t careful. “I know you like this, I know this is turning you on.” Letting his hand increase the pressure on Cas’s cock, he slicked his fingers with the mess of saliva and pre-come.

The look that Cas gave him was deliciously venomous, and Dean felt a wave of arousal course through his own body. He locked eyes, knew that Castiel wouldn’t be able to wrench his gaze away. “You’re such a good boy,” he murmured, reaching down to slip a finger into the ring of muscle. It was rougher than their usual, and Cas was clenched tight, anxious and determined not to let Dean win. Dean watched the arousal ripple across Cas’s face as he introduced a second finger, slow but relentless. Cas couldn’t help it – his eyes fell to half-mast and he let out a stuttering moan as Dean crooked his finger at the same time as he caught Cas’s dick with his other hand, cuffing him ruthlessly.

And yet, somehow, Cas still had the wherewithal to keep up his conversation with Raphael. Barely a hitch in breath.

“Do you like this?” demanded Dean, beginning to piston and stroke inside Cas, relishing the raw sensation of no lube. “I can tell you like this – look at your pretty little cock, look how hard you are. Keep going, Cas, you’re doing great – pay attention to your boss, now, pay attention. Did it get you hard, in my office, knowing anyone could come in?”

“Yes,” Cas blurted out, and Dean laughed. Still working inside him, Dean removed the pressure of his hand from Cas’s cock and ducked down to take him in his mouth again.

Cas was being worked to distraction. His fingers couldn’t find purchase in Dean’s short hair. He was gasping now, but still managed to find the breath to say, “Yes sir,” and “No, sir,” and in a completely different voice, deep and anxious and desperate as he spoke away from the receiver, “Dean, I’m going to – Dean, I can’t – ”

Dean doubled down, too eager to hold it off any longer – and then he had a mouthful of sweet, sticky omega cum, and Cas was gasping, trying and failing to piece together a sentence about intellectual property rights.

Dean had to give him points for effort.

He swallowed, his own chest heaving, and rubbed Cas through the shuddering afterglow. Cas was fighting for air, sweaty temple plastered to the phone, tie still immaculate. Dean had to force himself not to burst out laughing when he heard Raphael’s voice crackle on the other end: “Novak, what was that?”

“Nothing sir, it’s nothing,” Cas managed in a tight voice, hand vice-like on the back of Dean’s neck. “Just the news.”

“The news? Jesus, it’s past eleven. Listen, Novak, we’re going to have to sort out the rest of this tomorrow.”

“Of course, sir. Good night.”

The minute Cas pressed _end_ , Dean burst out laughing; Cas fell back on the bed, too winded to join in.

“That was more intimate with Raphael than I ever wanted to be,” he managed, when he could at last draw breath.

“You are a good fucking sport,” said Dean, wiping his hand with Kleenex. “I can’t believe you got through that.”

“I’m a fucking professional,” Cas gasped, closing his eyes.

“No, but seriously,” said Dean, letting his head fall to Cas’s chest, “I think you work too much. What happened to no more late nights?”

“I like my work,” Cas said lazily. He could hear Cas’s heart beat furiously beneath his ear.

“You work really hard for that asshole.”

Cas smiled, and stroked Dean’s hair. His languorous touch sent shiver-shocks racing down Dean’s back, reminding him that his own dick had thus far been fearfully neglected. “You work hard for your assholes, too, you know.”

“We need a vacation.”

“After the merger,” said Cas, which was his way of agreeing, and pulled Dean up to kiss him.

 

The GM was on Friday and Cas was going to be there, which meant that Dean dressed with extra care that morning – which was ridiculous, since Cas watched him dress every morning.

“Wow. Do you have a hot date after work or something?” Cas asked, as Dean stood in front of the closet, unable to commit.

“Gotta look good for the troops.”

Their project was moving out of the early planning phases into full production, which meant that the time Dean and Cas could legitimately waste together at work was rapidly dwindling. This was the last time they’d co-chair a meeting, and Dean already missed it. He liked sitting side-by-side with Cas at the head of the table, letting his omega do the talking, watching him work.

“Well, make sure you don’t look too good,” said Cas, passing Dean a mug of hot coffee. “I might get turned on and then where would we be?”

It was a rushed morning – Dean barely had time to prep his team and read his précis before he was due, by which time there were already a dozen people idling in the foyer. Dean straightened his tie and looked for Cas, but his lawyer had already been roped into a conversation with Victor over by the elevators. He was mildly disappointed – he was about to turn on the charm, and it would have been nice to get one of those secret nods of approval from Cas before he started, just as ballast. Ah, well.

He fought the impulse to join Cas and Victor, and resigned himself schmoozing and small talk, which was – after all – his damn job.

Still, he would have to admit that he wasn’t paying complete attention to the COO in front of him, which is why he was able to catch what happened next out of the corner of his eye. “Hey there, Castiel,” floated a familiar voice from beside the elevator. “How much is Dean paying you for this one, eh?”

Dean wasn’t so sure that Gordon should be first-naming Cas, but then Gordon never was one for formalities. Dean began to feel a little anxious. He wanted to spare Cas any embarrassment if he could, and he realized that he didn’t trust Gordon not to be a complete dick. Glancing furtively their direction, he watched Cas force his frigid posture into something a little more relaxed. If he’d been on home turf, Dean knew he would have responded with something icy and sharp, but he was playing the away game, which mean he was on his best behaviour.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Walker,” said Cas, extending his arm to shake Gordon’s hand. “I’m glad you were able to make it. We really appreciate it.”

Cas was a pro – Dean shouldn’t have worried.

He turned his attention back to his conversation, but it wasn’t long before Gordon’s voice carried over to him again.

“... normally see an alpha and omega as business partners. You have to suck his dick to get the contract, or what?”

It was with the utmost effort that Dean resisted the impulse to whip his head around. There was still chatter in the room; only the people closest to Gordon had gone awkwardly silent. The fact that Castiel was an omega wouldn’t have been known to all of them – the fact that Gordon was being vulgar about it was just icing on the cake.

Even at this distance, he could sense the embarrassment and anger boiling off of Cas, and he knew Cas could smell his own rising frustration, but Cas was determinedly not looking at Dean, calm by appearance, and Dean reined himself in with effort. Remembering what Cas had said, he forced himself to calm down, look away, focus on the conversation in front of him. He wasn’t going to hamstring Cas in front of everybody. The best way to have his back was to let him handle this on his own.

“I assure you I didn’t,” said Cas, in his very best we-are-not-having-an-argument-because-if-we-were-having-an-argument-you-would- _know_ voice. “If you’d like to come this way – ”

“Ah, don’t be like that, Cas,” said Gordon, in what he clearly thought was a jocular tone. “Me and Dean go back a long way. I don’t care if his lawyer’s a breeder.”

Cas’s reply was as swift and hard as a falling anvil. “You could watch your language.”

Sometimes Cas was hard to read.

This was not one of those times.

Every line of his body was sharp and taut in the kind of way that was should have made alarm bells go off everywhere within a five-mile radius.

Unfortunately, Gordon barged ahead anyways, doubling down instead of backing up. “See, this is why omegas don’t make it out here– you take everything personally.”

Cas didn’t blink. With infinite politeness, he handed Gordon’s file back to him. “I’m so sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Walker, but we’ve re-evaluated our needs. Thank you for your interest but my client isn’t able to do business with you at this time.”

It took a few moments for Gordon to process it. When he did, his face shifted into an expression of incredulity. “You can’t be serious,” he said bluntly.

“I am. You’re excused,” said Cas, only he wasn’t Cas – every cold, condescending inch of him was Castiel Novak, J.D., Officially Done With This Bullshit. “Mr. Milligan can show you out.”

Gordon didn’t move.

“I didn’t think Dean hired people to do his thinking for him.”

Dean couldn’t bear it any longer. “Problem, Gordon?” he asked, interrupting them.

Dean’s voice carried – he hadn’t thought to keep it down – and the room fell silent.

In retrospect, Dean realized Gordon probably wouldn’t have tried to save face if his colleagues hadn’t been watching the show, but it did make what happened next all the more satisfying.

Attempting to mask his anger with bravado, Gordon looked to Dean, expecting an ally. “You’d better watch yourself – your little omega here’s starting to punch above his pay grade.”

Keeping his expression neutral, Dean looked to Cas. In front of all the attendees, Dean looked to Cas. Cas, outwardly as calm and collected as Dean, met his eyes and nodded, once.

Dean looked back at Gordon and shrugged. “If Mr. Novak has dismissed you, Gordon, then you can consider yourself dismissed.”

Whatever Gordon’s reply was, it caught in his throat.

“Er, this way, Mr. Walker,” said Adam, after a few moments’ uncomfortable silence.

Well aware that every eye in the room was on his lawyer, Dean cheerfully channelled his own adrenaline into something productive. Checking his watch a little theatrically, he announced, “Well, I think we’d better get started, don’t you, Mr. Novak?”

 

Dean sent Adam home early.

Just on a hunch.

Sure enough, soon after there came a knock at his door. Dean knew Cas by scent, of course – these days he could tell when Cas got off the elevator on the other side of the building – but he couldn’t remember Cas ever smelling like this before. Dean didn’t have a chance to stand up from his chair before Cas was on him, lips hot and determined.

“I really, really need you to fuck me right now,” Cas demanded, scent curling inside Dean’s brain. He smelled half-ashamed but there was no resisting that low, needy growl.

Dean was more than happy to oblige. He knew what Cas needed.

“Oh my God, you’re such a good boy Cas,” Dean moaned, freeing himself from his trousers. Cas’s bony knees dug into Dean’s thighs as he undid Dean’s belt in a few short, sharp motions. He was shaking, as though standing up for himself this afternoon had thrown out his equilibrium and he needed Dean to set him straight.

They were a tangle of limbs as they struggled to strip and shift their clothing, unable to slow down or be patient. Dean heard something rip in the lining of someone’s jacket and didn’t care – he just kept talking. “So good. So good. Amazing today, Cas, you were amazing. Come here.”

It was hard and fast and brutal. Dean drove in with sharp, mismatched thrusts as he fought to keep Cas steady, raced to keep up with him. It was hardly even pleasurable, but that didn’t matter, pleasure was an afterthought – Cas needed to feel Dean on him, and in him, and Dean shoved his hands up under Cas’s jacket and shirt and dug his nails into the skin and _pulled_ and Cas came with a cry, collapsing inwards.

Dean gathered him into his chest and waited, soothing, never ceasing his praise.

“Good boy,” he panted, “you’re such a good boy.”

He waited until Cas had stilled in his arms, until the quivering shame in his scent had abated.

Afterwards, Castiel sighed. “I cost you a lot of money today.”

“I don’t care,” Dean said fervently, hugging him close and trying not to laugh, in case Cas took it the wrong way. “You’re awesome.”

They disentangled themselves awkwardly, with more than a few winces and wry glances at the mess they’d made of their clothes.

Cas was too sore to sit, so he leaned against the wall as Dean gathered his things.

“Are you okay, Cas?” he asked. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m embarrassed and angry, and I’m annoyed I let him get to me.” Cas met Dean’s eyes, setting his jaw against the world. “But I’m not sorry.”

Dean kissed him. “Good.”

 

Adam: they think they’re being subtle

Adam: thanks for your hard work adam, take the afternoon off, my ass

Adam: it’s like, guys, I *know*

Adam: you can relax

Anna: Novak is allergic to relaxing

Anna: Who knows at your end?

Adam: officially, nobody

Adam: but after this afternoon probably everybody on seventh

Adam: W was practically glowing

Adam: look at my boyfriend, he’ll kick your asses, kind of thing

Anna: Shit. This is bad. It’s going to make everything worse when they break up.

Adam: who says they’re breaking up?

Anna: Nobody yet, but workplace romances never end well.

Adam: killjoy

Adam: you didn’t see W’s face. he’s got feelings

Anna: Yeah, well, Novak’s allergic to feelings, too.

 

It turned out that Cas had cost them quite a lot of money. Dean apologized to the board and spent his Saturday making some half-hearted gestures at reconciliation with Gordon’s people.

He didn’t care.

Dean wasn’t an idiot – he got paid the big bucks to get along with people, to make sure that the things that needed to work were working. Personal feelings weren’t supposed to come into it. He suspected Cas was right – he shouldn’t have blown up, he should have played it cool. If Cas had done that with any other client, he’d have been lucky not to get fired. Then again, if Dean had been any other client, Cas wouldn’t have had put up with someone like Gordon out of consideration for his boyfriend’s feelings.

Every time Dean had a moment to himself, he couldn’t help but picture the calm, quiet way Castiel had handed Gordon his ass on a platter, and felt it was worth it all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHORFAIL AHOY - I posted this chapter to the wrong fic a few days ago. Thanks to those who pointed it out so I could correct it! Unfortunately, this means I've deleted your kind comments as well, for which I am sorry. I liked those comments.
> 
> Back to the erratically-scheduled A/B/O ...

**6:45 am**

 

Dean awoke with a groan and the beginnings of a migraine. A quick glance at his clock told him that he still had fifteen minutes before his alarm blasted them out of bed. Soft gray light filtered in through the window – it was raining outside, a reminder that it was still spring.

He pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. The air in the room was chilly, but he resisted the urge to burrow down back into the duvet with Cas. Cas, miraculously, was still asleep – but then, he’d been at the office until all hours the night before.

Dean had told Adam he’d be in today, despite the fact that it was Sunday. There was a huge backlog that needed his attention.

The thought of his inbox was too much, though. With a soft moan, Dean surrendered. He slipped back down into the duvet, trying to will away the unsettled feeling in his stomach that accompanied his migraine. He rolled into Cas’s body warmth, snaking an arm around the man’s waist and letting himself drift closer. He didn’t want to wake him before he had to – Cas never slept in, and it would be a shame to waste this.

Cas’s scent was welcoming and homey, and Dean relaxed into it. He pushed his aching forehead against the soft comfort of Cas’s back and sighed.

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, his alarm was screaming at them. Dean knew it was time to move his arm from where he’d snaked it around his boyfriend’s shoulders, but he really, really didn’t want to.

Cas reached over to shut the alarm off, but instead of getting out of bed, he rolled over into Dean’s chest and pulled him closer.

Oh, good.

“It’s seven,” he mumbled, voice low with sleep.

Dean sighed into the embrace as Cas ran a lazy hand across his back. “Don’t want to get up,” he muttered. “You can’t make me.”

Dean opened a querulous eye when Cas pressed the flat of his hand to his forehead.

“Headache?” Cas asked.

“You can tell?”

“Yeah, you’re all squinty. Plus you smell grumpy.” Cas carded his fingers through Dean’s hair, looking at him critically. “Executive decision – you’re sleeping in.”

“Mmm. Stuff to do.”

“Stuff can wait.” Cas kissed him firmly, like he was concluding an argument.

Dean didn’t need any more persuading. He could go in later. Maybe his migraine would be gone then. Closing his eyes against the light, he settled into the comfort of Cas’s lips, let his alpha clutch tight to its omega, and drifted back to sleep.

 

**9:30 am**

 

The rain hadn’t abated when he woke for a second time, and neither had his migraine.

“Don’t get up,” murmured Cas, dropping a light kiss on his forehead before slipping out of bed.

Dean felt too gross to ask what he was up to. He closed his eyes against the glum, gray headache and tried to will away the pain. The guilt of his ruined day was beginning to weigh on him. He wished they were at the cabin. He wished they were alone. He wished they were anywhere other than here, knowing he had to get out of bed soon and go into the office.

He felt the bed dip as Cas clambered back on board, and cracked open his grimy eyes.

Cas had brought him water and pills, and he knocked them back gratefully.

“What’re you doing?” Dean murmured, pushing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

Cas was sitting up straight against the headboard, Dean’s computer in his lap.

“We’re going to go through your e-mail and respond to the important stuff, leave the rest for tomorrow.”

“You know my password?” Dean managed.

“Of course.”

“Mr. Novak, how unprofessional of you. Is this the man I married?” Dean grinned, but Cas just smiled soft and quiet, and Dean let the banter drop. His head really hurt.

“Hush and pay attention.” Together, they sorted through the last 12 hours of Dean’s inbox, Cas reading aloud, Dean dictating his responses.

“Why’re you stopping?” asked Dean after a while, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“That’s everything urgent. The rest can wait.” Cas pressed a gentle hand to his forehead. It was a gesture of comfort, not diagnosis. “Don’t fight me on this one – just go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Dean didn’t mind it when Cas bossed him around.

 

**1:15 pm**

 

Dean awoke hungry, with a stomach that was mostly settled and a head that was mostly clear, though still a little sore. It was the kind of comforting sore that reminded him how worse things had been a few hours ago. He stretched luxuriously, moving his limbs to accommodate the warm lump beside him. Cas was sitting up, plunking away at his tablet and eating toast.

“Feeling better?” he asked, as Dean pushed himself up.

“Much,” Dean said, taking toast from the stack and eating with relish. So they got crumbs in bed – whatever.

“There’s tea on your bedside table.”

“Cas, you’re the best.”

It was still warm.

Fed and watered, Dean felt a million miles better, but he still had no desire to get out of bed. His limbs were heavy and he felt old, older than he had in years. His condition was appropriately pathetic that he thought he might be able to get away with cuddling without Cas making a thing out of it. Sure enough, Cas let him wrap himself around his torso without a word. He readjusted his arms so that he could stroke Dean’s hair with one hand.

Dean decided that he was just not going to think about his approaching deadlines.

A lazy Sunday in bed was worth it.

 

**3:30 pm**

 

“This is so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“There’s about thirty seconds of game time for every commercial break. We’re watching grown men stand on a field and spit. We could do that in the park – we don’t need to pay for the extra channels.”

Dean sometimes despaired of making Cas understand football.

He muted the game and began – again – to explain touchdowns.

Cas, to his credit, could fake interest really well. He practically had a degree in it. Dean knew when he was being humoured. That was okay – Cas could resist all he wanted, Dean was going to get him ready for the Superbowl if it killed them both.

 

**5:15**

 

“Huh. Company in Japan says it’s developed a better suppressant,” said Cas, flipping a page in his magazine. He’d made more tea, but hadn’t burrowed back under the covers afterwards. “Says it’s like being heat-free. Clinical trial stage.”

“Interesting.”

“Probably garbage. Every few years they claim to fix it, and then it always turns out it does something awful, like turn your skin green or make you infertile.”

Dean leaned over lazily and rucked up Cas’s shirt, so that he could kiss his bare belly.

“How do you feel about pups?”

“Less certain than I feel about my investments,” Cas said, turning the page.

“What, don’t you want kids?”

Cas put his magazine down, but he was smiling, playing along. “I didn’t say that. I think _you_ want kids.”

“I like kids. I’d have kids.”

“I’ve heard that your sex life takes a hit afterwards.”

“Shame. I’ll just have to fuck you a lot before we have kids.”

“Not sure it’d be worth it.”

“So you don’t want kids.”

Cas shrugged, returning to his magazine. “I don’t think about kids. But I think about you fucking me a lot.”

It was shit like that that made working with Cas so distracting.

 

**5:50 pm**

 

“Are you feeling better?” Cas murmured, mostly asleep, as Dean licked his nipple.

“No, I still have a headache. Help me.”

“Poor baby,” he mumbled. Beneath Dean’s tongue, his nipple was hardening, bright and glistening against Cas’s pale chest.

“Yeah, it’s awful. Can I fuck you? That’ll make me feel better.”

“I don’t know. I think I heard that cold showers are good for headaches.” But Cas made a noise of protest when Dean made to move his head, and Dean happily obliged, settling back down and grazing his nipple gently with his teeth.

Dean felt like he could touch Cas forever. His body was elegant and responsive and completely Dean’s flavour. Sometimes Dean couldn’t believe that it was only because of a fluke heat that Cas was his. Cas was so cautious and reserved, it sent a pang to Dean’s heart knowing that in a different universe, he might never have had the right to touch Cas like that, to see him lie back in mellow anticipation, scent aglow, as Dean prepped him.

“Don’t get too relaxed,” Dean teased, settling over him. “I’m worried you might start nesting.”

“No danger of that, m’not in heat,” he said, smiling sleepily as Dean entered him.

That much was true. Dean’s ruts were increasing, but despite his fears, Cas hadn’t hit heat since he’d gone off his hormones. Dean would occasionally broach the subject with a general “How are you feeling these days?” but Cas insisted he was fine – there was just no heat. Which was good. Perfect, really. Cas hated heat and he liked being with Dean. Win, win. Aside from a little bruising to Dean’s ego, he had to admit that this wasn’t a bad thing.

Cas had been on some sort of suppressant for most of his adult life – they both knew his body was still adjusting. It would probably take months. Dean would have been happier if Cas was seeing the doctor more regularly, but there was nothing the doctor could do other than give him chemicals to induce heat, and Cas didn’t want that.

Maybe it was work stress. He was working a lot.

But so was Dean, the frustrated part of him argued. Dean was working harder than ever and his ruts were still ramping up like there was no tomorrow. Not that Cas ever seemed like he wasn’t into Dean, or didn’t want to have sex with him – on the contrary – but sometimes Dean worried in his secret alpha heart that Cas wasn’t going into heat for a reason, and the reason was Dean. Was _he_ the one stressing Cas out?

Cas’s fingers touched his forehead, tender in a way that he never was in the outside world. “Where’s your head at?” he asked gently, clear from his tone that this was inquiry and not criticism.

“Thinking about you,” Dean replied truthfully.

They made love lazily, unwilling to chase the burn, content to let their bodies push and pull against each other languidly. Cas wrapped one lean leg over Dean’s back, tucking himself into the hollows of Dean’s body, letting Dean set a pace that worked for him. Sex was a conversation, and Dean was always happy when Cas took charge, but today Cas was content to let Dean do the talking.

Cas broke first, forehead buried in Dean’s neck, whimpering sweetly through the aftershocks. He gave himself up to it completely, trusted Dean completely.

Dean shouldn’t have doubted him.

Cas would get there, he would.

 

**6:40 pm**

 

Once his migraine had well and truly disappeared, Dean realized he was starving.

They could have dressed and gone out for dinner, or even just relocated to the table, but Dean – to use Cas’s words – was a big whiny baby, so in the end they reheated pizza and ate it in bed.

“We eat too much pizza,” Cas groaned. “I’m so tired of pizza.”

“How can you be tired of pizza?”

“I’ll drop a client. I’ll start cooking again. It’s just too much pizza.”

“I’ve changed my mind – I don’t think I can be in a relationship with a man who thinks there’s such thing as too much pizza. We have to break up, I’m sorry, Cas.”

“Between me and pizza, you choose pizza?”

“Sad but true.”

“That’s cold, Winchester.”

“I’m just being honest.”

 

**9:00 pm**

 

Cas made more tea and rubbed Dean’s temples as they watched the financial news. Dean lasted fifteen minutes before he had to switch it off. The sounds of evening floated through the open window. Inside, there was the shush of bodies against fabric and hands in hair and slow, comfortable breathing.

It was kind of perfect.

“Did you ever think about doing this differently?” Cas asked, his voice so low and quiet that Dean barely caught the words.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you ever have days when you wish you were with someone who made it easy?”

“Cas, you brought me pizza in bed and you’re giving me a scalp massage. I don’t really think I’m hard-done by here.”

“You know what I mean,” Cas continued softly. “Someone more traditional, someone like you thought you’d end up with.”

“What brought this on?” Dean asked, twisting so that he could see Cas’s face.

Cas looked at the ceiling, both as a way of gathering his thoughts and avoiding Dean’s eyes.

“I lost your company a lot of money last week.”

“Yeah, but that was awesome.”

“Sometimes I think I don’t deserve you.” His tone was deliberately detached, as though he was dissecting a theoretical problem, but his scent told different. “Everything’s a fight with me. Don’t you ever want to be with someone who doesn’t turn everything into a battle?”

“Nope,” said Dean honestly.

“Really?” pushed Cas. He met Dean’s eyes now – it was easier for him to do it, Dean noticed, when he had something to push against. “You don’t want to come home to a house that doesn’t have papers and junk all over the place, with dinner ready and the kids all lined up in a row? You want nights when I’m irritated from work and too tired for sex and we order take-out for the third night straight?”

“Yeah, but we can _afford_ take-out. And I like cooking, I’m getting better at it. And if I wanted a housecleaner, I’d hire a housecleaner.”

“And if you wanted pups you’d hire them too?”

“Cas, you’re being – ” Dean stopped.

It was true that Cas was a far cry from the ideal omega, but he knew it would be counter-productive to say so, even if that was one of the things Dean loved about him. Still, how could Cas think that mattered to Dean? But obviously it mattered to Cas, and he couldn’t get beyond it.

That bleak, gray sourness was beginning to leak into Cas’s scent.

Dean wanted nothing more than to drag Cas into his arms, unwashed as they both were from their day in bed, but he resisted, knew Cas was pushing at Dean to test the distance between them. He got like this sometimes, cautious and worried. “Cas, you know how happy I am with you, right? I mean, in case that was unclear.”

Cas looked both touched and frustrated. “That’s not what I ...”

“There’s no vague ideal future person who’s more important to me than you are. We make a good team. We’re _compatible_. You’re ... I mean, you’re just ...”

Cas was passionate and driven and grumpy and gorgeous, and he made Dean want to be a better person because he was demanding and difficult and wouldn’t let Dean get away with anything less than his best. Being with Cas meant being held to a higher standard, even if Cas didn’t know it.

Cas was a good thing that had rolled into his lap, and it had nothing to do with whether or not he deserved it – it just _was,_ and it was great, and he’d be damned if he let anything happen to it.

“Sometimes good things just happen, Cas,” he said softly. “Look, I don’t know if saying this makes things better or worse, and I know you don’t like hearing it, but I want you to be my mate. I don’t care what it ends up looking like.”

Cas didn’t answer, but Dean hadn’t expected him to. Bringing up mating was always a risk.

Cas brought his fingers back to Dean’s temples, settled Dean back on his chest so they were no longer face-to-face.

“Just promise me you’ll think about it,” Dean pressed, unwilling to let the subject drop without one final overture.

“I’m always thinking about it,” said Cas, tone unreadable.

Dean had to accept that. He closed his eyes and let Cas’s touch wash over him.

Dean knew that Cas, in his own way, was trying to protect him. He didn’t want Dean to commit to an imperfect omega. Which was regressive and ridiculous and traditionalist and whole bunch of other “ists” that weren’t really Cas, but Dean knew how hard it was to retrain yourself from that kind of thinking when you’d been fed those lies from birth.

Cas had bucked the system thinking only of himself, and now that he had another person to take into account, he was overdosing on misplaced guilt. It was frustrating, but all Dean could do was be there for him.

Dean wasn’t worried for a minute that Cas didn’t trust him.

Cas just didn’t trust himself. It would be okay, though – he’d come around eventually.

Dean tried not to worry.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean pushed away his laptop and blinked blearily.

“We need a vacation,” he said, standing up to crack his back and groaning as he did so. He wasn’t as young as he used to be and sitting for long periods of time was starting to take its toll. He didn’t dare say it out loud, though. The last time he had, Cas had suggested Dean join him for yoga, and had been reluctant to accept “never in a million years” as an adequate response.

“What do you think about going up to the cabin this Friday? I still need to put the boat in. Some chores I should do up there.”

“I think you need to re-examine your definition of vacation,” Cas said absently, staring at his notes.

“You don’t have to do anything – you can just sit there. Sun, beer, I’ll do all the work.”

“I can’t,” Cas said ruefully, turning to face Dean properly. “Mike and Gabe want to get together this weekend.”

“Who?”

“Mike and Gabe. They’re friends of mine from law school.” He paused. “Well, they’re not so much friends. More like people I used to drink with. You might have heard of Michael, actually – he’s had a couple high-profile cases recently. Something about a serial killer.”

Dean let the meaning of this fully sink in. “Oh my God, you have _plans_? With _friends_? Cas, this is unprecedented.”

“Dean –  ”

“No, Cas, this is serious. Don’t let me stand in the way of your social life. Wait – wait – what am I thinking? I can come, right? Please tell me I’m invited.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “No, you cannot come,” he said firmly. “You and I are supposed to be a secret. I’m not bringing you on a date. Besides,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “I’m not sure I want you and Gabriel in the same room together.”

Dean laughed.

 

Despite Cas’s insistence that no, he wasn’t going to go crazy, Dean, it’s just a few beers, and no, he wasn’t going to be home late, Dean ended up passed out on the couch long before Cas got back.

He was awakened by noises from the hallway.

“Ow.”

“Cas?” he mumbled, switching on the light. “That you?”

“Ow.”

“That’s the wall, Cas.”

Dean watched Cas attempt to disentangle himself from his coat and his shoes. It wasn’t working so well; he was struggling to remain vertical. Cas was red-faced and tousled and clearly plastered.

Dean grinned. He could count the number of times he’d seen Cas drunk on one hand, and he intended to take full advantage.

“Looks like somebody had a good night. How was drinks with the guys?”

“D’you know how successful I am?” Cas demanded, finally shucking his coat. He was speaking with a definite slur. “I’m successful. I mean, not as successful as _you,_ obviously, but I’m successful. I get shit done, you know? An’I make more money than everyone I graduated with.”

“That what you guys gossiped about tonight? Annual income?” Dean moseyed into the kitchen to get Cas some water; Cas followed, weaving slightly. “Sounds boring as shit. I’m glad I didn’t come.”

“You were’n’invited,” said Cas, smiling affectionately. Dean considered getting Cas drunk more often. It was nice to see his face open and lit up like this. He took the glass of water and the Gravol and downed them without argument.

“You’re cute when you’re drunk.”

“Ugh, shut up.”

“So, do you make more than Gabe?” asked Dean, playing along.

“Course.”

“More than Michael?”

“Course not. Michael’s Michael. But – no – s’not what I _meant_ ,” said Cas, trying to articulate with his hands, forgetting that he was holding his glass and slopping water on the floor. “Like, I did it. I got the job, I got the money. Most people never get this far, you know? And I made it, and I’m an _omega_.” His tone turned from owly to inquisitive: “D’we have anything else to drink?”

“You sure you should be drinking?” asked Dean, as Cas pulled the vodka from the freezer. “You’re pretty toasted, Cas.”

“Don’t be stupid, s’for both of us, you’re drinking with me.” He took a swallow from the bottle and winced, shaking his head. “Ugh.” He handed the bottle to Dean. “Hate drinking alone. S’worst. Nobody in high school thought I’d get this far. My parents didn’t think I could do it. They didn’t _want_ me to do it. Just ... assholes.”

“Never pegged you for an angry drunk.” Dean took the vodka and swigged it, but he put it back down on his side of the counter. He was enjoying drunk Cas, but the man had probably had enough. “What happened to get you all riled up?” he asked, teasing.

Cas slid down the refrigerator to sit on the floor, where he looked confusedly at his shoes, which were still resolutely laced. “M’not angry. Had a good time. Mike and Gabe are dicks, but they’re my kind of dicks. Just ... fuck. Was thinking, you know?”

“About what?”

“’Bout all of it. You don’t know what it was like, Dean. Back in my day.”

“I’m older than you.”

“Yeah, but you’wr’nvr’n _omega_. Didn’t know what it was _like._ ” He looked up at Dean balefully from the floor. Even drunk he was gorgeous, his usual composure unspooling into expressiveness. “D’you know I wasn’t allowed to com ... com ... convocate with the rest of my class? Modesty laws. Wasn’t allowed to go. Picture’s not in the yearbook either.”

Dean didn’t say anything. After a moment of consideration, he joined Cas on the floor. His knees cracked. He passed his omega back the bottle. Cas took another swig without wincing, probably a sign that he’d already had too much.

“Man, fuck those guys,” said Dean, with feeling.

“Tha’s what I thought,” said Cas, nodding firmly and grinning. “Fuck’em.”

Dean grinned back. “And you thought the best way to stick it to them was to get hammered ten years later?”

“Talking about repressed feelings is positive. This is a perfectly healthy emotional ... thing.” Cas straightened up from his slouch and looked properly at Dean. “Hey. Probably too drunk to play doctor, but why do we always end up talking about my issues? Why don’t we ever talk about your cool emotional problems?”

“Because I don’t have cool emotional problems.”

“Yes you do,” said Cas. His smile was sloppy but his eyes were clear. “You totally do. I can see’em all over the place.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Dean, only paying half-attention as he freed the bottle from Cas’s grip.

“Yeah. You always have to be in control. Why’d’you do that?”

“Okay, unfair. We’re not psychoanalysing me tonight, Cas. Let’s get you to bed.”

“S’a perfectly fair observation,” Cas said, as he let the bigger man help him up from the floor. His head flopped against Dean’s shoulder, but he kept talking anyways, his mouth making little wet designs on Dean’s neck as the sentences spilled out. “I didn’t mean you were one of _those_ alphas. You just like feeling in control. You like feeling needed.”

“It’s an alpha thing,” said Dean, frowning. He wasn’t sure he wanted to invite any more insights tonight – when Cas hit, he hit hard.

“S’more than that,” Cas carried on. There was nothing cruel in his tone; he was speaking with the blasé self-assurance of the totally hammered, but Dean suddenly realized he needed Cas to stop talking, like, yesterday.

“Come on, Cas,” he said, trying to distract him as he helped him into the bedroom. “You’re drunk. Let’s get you undressed.”

Cas heeded him not at all, and crashed on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, considering it. “S’like you think the whole fucking world’s going to collapse if you aren’t carrying it all the time. Like me. You’re careful with me. And that’s good – I like it. But I don’t need you to be in control all the time, you know. I’m not going to break into pieces if you let me know you’re scared.”

Dean fumbled in the middle of untying Cas’s laces.

He looked up at Cas, but Cas was flat on his back, eyes almost shut, long, lean body stretched out like a downed gazelle.

Dean felt his hackles rise. He knew Cas was drunk, wasn’t speaking sense, tried to push away that traitorous little defensive spur in the back of his brain.

“I am not scared.”

“Liar,” said Cas, smiling up at the ceiling. “Everyone’s scared of something.”

“Oh?” asked Dean, regretting his own belligerence but unable to stop it, it seemed. “What am I scared of?”

“Oh, you’re scared of a lot of things,” yawned Cas, letting Dean remove his shoes. “You’re scared you don’t know what you’re doing, sometimes. With work and stuff. That people can tell it’s show. It’s just that you sort of need people to depend on you. But you don’t need to worry about that – I’ve worked with _way_ bigger idiots than you and nobody’s wise to them, trust me, you’re fine.”

“Thanks, Cas, that’s swell,” Dean said, settling down beside him. Cas’s body was hot and his face was flushed, but Dean pulled him in anyways, threading one arm through the space between Cas’s head and the pillow to tuck him close. Cas kissed him on the nose, and Dean grinned, despite his mounting trepidation. “You smell like a distillery. Okay, what else?”

“You’re scared about Sam,” Cas continued, eyes big and bright, still staring at the ceiling. “I mean, I don’t know, s’just a feeling I have, when you’re on the phone with him sometimes you get weird. And you’re scared of spiders, which is just stupid. You have a shed, Dean. People with sheds shouldn’t be afraid of spiders.”

“That’s not – ”

Cas shifted on the bed so he was looking into Dean’s face. His body was clumsy but his gaze was steady. “You’re scared I’m going to leave you.”

Dean froze.

The scent in the room changed, the way frost invades the air in the pre-dawn.

“Ouch. Didn’t like that,” said Cas.

“I’m not scared you’re going to leave me,” Dean managed.

Cas didn’t blink. “Yes you are.”

“Alright,” said Dean slowly, trying for casual. “Why are you going to leave? Is it because I’m a terrible cook?

Cas brought Dean’s knuckles to his lips, kissed them softly. _I’m not going to leave you_ , were the words Dean expected to hear, but they never came. Cas just looked at him – and it felt like he was a long way away, all of a sudden – sort of sad and wistful.

“Cas,” Dean said, and he wasn’t sure if he was asking or insisting.

But Cas didn’t respond, just kept looking at him with that piercing stare. Dean didn’t always appreciate how intimidating Cas’s eyes could be, unyielding and unnaturally bright. They were sharp eyes – a man could cut himself in there.

“Come on, Cas,” said Dean softly, trying to bolster himself. “We don’t have to talk about that. Let’s get you undressed.”

“S’an _amazing_ idea,” said Cas, and all of a sudden his eyes were half-lidded again and his voice was as slurry as ever. He was pliant under Dean’s direction, and soon they were talking about other things as Dean undressed him. He went to bed like a lamb, but it was a long while before Dean could bring himself to lie down beside him.

It wasn’t until Cas flopped over in his drunken half-sleep and cuddled up tight that Dean let the scent-comfort wash over him – _his, his, his_ – and lull him into a fitful doze.

 

Gabriel waited for Michael to go get their second round before tugging his stool closer to Castiel’s.

“So how are you doing, really?” he asked.

Castiel smiled, bemused. This was an uncharacteristically fraternal gesture from the man who used to call him “Cassie” in 1L just to piss him off. “What brought that on? I’m fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, Smith and Sons, top firm, got the Winchester contract, blah blah blah.” Gabriel leaned in a little closer. He looked awkward but determined. “It’s just ... Winchester’s an alpha, yeah?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel demanded sharply. “What have you heard?”

“Nothing. I can just put two and two together. Winchester’s got a reputation. He’s not a man you want to fuck around with, from what I know. He’s charming, but he can be a hard-ass. I just wanted to make sure he hasn’t ... tried anything.”

“What, you don’t think I can handle a hard-ass alpha?”

“No, I remember what you said to our Contracts prof,” replied Gabriel, finally cracking a smile. “Just so long as it’s all cool.”

“It’s fine, Gabe,” said Castiel, weirdly touched instead of irritated by Gabriel’s protectiveness. Maybe all this time with Dean was making him go soft. “It was a little tense in the beginning, but we’re good now. Dean respects me and I respect him, Raphael’s happy because I bring home the bacon, and Uriel’s too scared of me these days to bully me much. Satisfied?”

“Alright,” said Gabriel, leaning back and grinning. “Satisfied.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Ah, well, you know. Always good to check in.”

Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Plus you’re, like, the only omega I know, so.”

“So if ever you need brownie points with the universe, you just ask me how I’m doing.”

“Pretty much. Man,” Gabriel said with a laugh, “I’m surprised you got Raphael to agree in the first place. It’s an HR disaster waiting to happen. Can you imagine how fucking fired you’d be?”

Castiel winced internally, glad that Gabriel and Michael were humans and couldn’t sense his very real discomfort. “Tell me about it. Anyways, it’s a total double standard. We know people who hook up with their clients all the time, and everyone knows, and nobody makes a big deal about it.”

“Yeah, but humans aren’t psychic.”

“Weres aren’t _psychic_ , Gabe.”

“Psychic love bonds: not so great for privacy controls.”

“It’s called undue bond influence.”

“Fuck, bond law’s messed up. Why I never took a class on it. Anyways. Glad to hear Winchester’s resisting your charms.”

“Gabriel, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not exactly well-known for my warm and welcoming personality. It’s why I only have two friends.”

“That’s good. Because if anything happens, you’re both in deep shit. Just do me a favour and don’t get fired for malpractice.”

“You’re getting fired, Cas?” asked Michael, slamming their pitcher down, followed by three tumblers of whiskey.

“Hope not,” Castiel said, knocking back his whiskey on the count of three.

 

Castiel awoke with a jolt, sweating as though he’d been running. His harsh breathing sounded loud in his ears, but Dean hadn’t stirred – he was still fast asleep beside him, breathing in an even, gentle tempo. The room was still dark – it wasn’t yet morning. Disoriented and beginning to feel quite sick, Castiel tried to piece last night back together.

He knew that the tight, twisted sensation in his stomach had nothing to do with alcohol.

He’d said it out loud.

He’d said it out loud, because he’d been drunk and frustrated and because it was true. Dean _was_ afraid. Not afraid they’d get caught, though he should have been – afraid Castiel wasn’t in this with him.

He looked down at the sleeping form beside him. Dean’s head had slipped off the edge of his pillow, like he’d been moving closer to Castiel in the night but had thought better of it.

Castiel leaned forward and dropped his head; he couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air, unable to pull enough of it in to stop the pain in his chest. He regretted last night’s confession with every fibre of his being and he knew that Dean, in his endless, unflappable patience, would never bring it up again, would take him back no questions asked. Because Dean was loving and caring and Castiel didn’t deserve him.

He was an idiot. What was he doing? Gabriel was right, if this ever got out, he was so screwed. Why was he doing this?

He knew why. Because he was a coward. Because this felt good and that was all he wanted to think about. Because even though he knew he couldn’t commit, wouldn’t ever want to bond, it felt so good to be with Dean right now and one more day, one more week, one more month couldn’t hurt.

This wasn’t fair. He couldn’t do this to Dean any more. He was already in too deep – he had to get out before it got any worse, before he hit heat again.

Castiel was shaking. He’d thought he was safe, but he was owned and he hadn’t realized it. His perfect, wonderful alpha. Dean gave so easily, so readily, he didn’t know what he was giving, how it was tying Castiel to him in the most painful ways. He gave devotedly and his devotion was terrifying.

Castiel was so, so tired of being defective, of being a bad omega, of needing Dean’s help and of feeling guilty every time he took it. Dean deserved better.

He wasn’t good enough for Dean and one day Dean would realize it, and Dean would leave him, and Castiel knew he couldn’t handle another broken bond.

Gabriel was right.

His resolution sank through his body like ice water.

Beside him, Dean made a fitful noise and stirred. “Cas?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Y’alright?”

Dean looked up blearily. He was confused for a moment – and then instantly, he wasn’t. There was no mistaking the fear and resolution in Castiel’s scent. Even Castiel could smell it, loud in its panic and pain.

Dean knew.

“Cas,” rushed Dean, sitting up; Castiel shifted quickly to put distance between them. Omegas were loyal to their alphas, it was written in their bones, and he didn’t think his resolution could handle it if Dean touched him now. He couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, because he knew what he would find there: pain and patience.

“Cas, don’t do this. You’re still drunk – ”

“I’m not drunk, Dean,” he said hollowly, and Dean knew it, too.

“Cas, look,” Dean said thickly. He reached out with a hand Castiel jerked away. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t accept the touch. Dean looked stunned, but he soldiered on, apparently thinking that if he spoke fast and hard enough, he could head Castiel off. “We can work this out, you don’t have to go. I know how hard you’re trying – ”

“You shouldn’t be with someone who has to try this hard,” said Castiel. His voice sounded metallic and empty to his own ears. “I know you’ve been trying to make this easy on me, I know, and I feel so guilty that I can’t ...”

“We’re not keeping score, Cas – I told you, you’re not at war with me, I’m here.”

_Why was he perverse? Why couldn’t he just be happy? What was wrong with him?_

Castiel bit his lip to keep the sob down. “I told you I was a bad omega, Dean. I can’t do this. It’s going to cost you too much.”

That was too much for Dean. He grabbed Castiel by the bicep – not hard, just enough to angle his body in. “Cas, do I look unhappy?” he demanded.

Castiel kept his eyes down, his head ducked.

“Cas, answer me! Do I look unhappy?”

“Dean, I can’t – ”

“Goddammit, Cas, look me in the eyes – ”

“YES!” Castiel shouted, finally giving in to his anger. “Yes you do! You think I don’t see it but I do! You’re falling over yourself trying to make sure I don’t see just how frustrated you are! I know you’re frustrated, and it’s my fault, _I know_!”

“Don’t you dare make my decisions for me,” Dean bit back. “I’m an adult. I know who I want to be with.”

“It’s too dangerous,” said Castiel, playing his trump card. “If someone from work finds out, I’m screwed. I’ve worked too long and too hard to let that happen.”

He expected Dean’s resolve to crumple at that, but Dean set his jaw, stubborn. “Cas, I know you love me. And you can’t doubt ... you don’t – ”

“No,” said Castiel hollowly, willing Dean to just understand him, knowing he was going to fight it. “I know you love me. But ... Dean ... I don’t think I can.”

Castiel saw the incomprehension on Dean’s face, and felt a sharp stab of savage pleasure – of course Dean was upset. He _should_ be upset. _This is what it means, Dean, this is what it means to love a broken omega._

But all Dean did was cup his hand around Castiel’s elbow, and Castiel – so tired, so tired – let his body relax into Dean’s touch, even if his heart was clenched so tight he could hardly breathe. Castiel let his body be guided by Dean’s hand, until his head was resting against Dean’s chest.

They were silent for a moment, breathing in each other’s despair and fear.

“You’re not leaving tonight,” said Dean after a while, but it was a question, not an order, and his voice had gone husky. Trembling.

_You did that. This is what you’re leaving. You idiot._

In that moment, Castiel couldn’t have moved if it had been the end of the world.

“No,” he whispered, unable to wrench himself away from his alpha. “No, I’ll spend the night.”

“This is going to look different in the morning,” Dean lied, holding Castiel close. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Castiel didn’t say anything, but let Dean wrap his arms around him. Dean trailed his hands gently over Castiel’s back and neck, soothing, and it was enough to break Castiel’s heart. He felt Dean’s fingers rest on the old bite scar.

“Cas – ” Dean began, voice shaky, but Castiel wouldn’t let him continue. They were done fighting. This, at least, he could be brave about.

“Shh, Dean, it’s okay,” he whispered. “This is for the best.”

 _One day Dean would see it_. He pressed his lips to the soft skin at Dean’s neck and let the tears come.

 

Nothing was better in the morning.

It dawned gray. Cas was sleeping beside him, but he wasn’t in his arms – he’d pulled away in the night and now was twisted in on himself on the other side of the bed. The barrier was invisible, but palpable all the same.

Dean had forgotten to set the alarm. With extreme reluctance, he reached over and shook Cas awake. There was a moment before Cas opened his eyes when his face was loose and gentle, but waking brought back the pain in his eyes and Dean knew it was over.

They brushed their teeth, got dressed, ate. Dean kept stealing glances, but Cas shook his head, face ashen, and stared at the floor. _No dice. This is it. This is real._

At the table, Cas pushed a mug of hot coffee into Dean’s empty hands.

Dean looked up sharply. “Cas – ”

Cas cut him off. “Dean, I love you. But I can’t mate you. Being mated was awful and I won’t do it again.”

“We don’t have to be mated, Cas. I’m sorry I was pushing, I just thought you wanted reassurance – ”

“No,” Cas said quietly, “you were worried for the right reasons. You were worried that it meant I was going to leave you. And you were right. I am leaving.”

“You don’t want this.” If there was anything Dean knew, it was that. Cas had been happy with him, liked being with him.

“It’s for the best, Dean.”

 

Dean went through the motions of the day mechanically. People talked to him, he talked back; he sent e-mails, listened to his voicemail, sent Adam on some errands. His brain was so numb that it wasn’t until he got back to the apartment that the full impact of last night settled on him.

Cas wasn’t coming home.

Dean went into the bedroom without turning on the lights. He didn’t want to see the holes where Cas’s stuff had been. He fell back on the bed and lay perfectly still. He thought about undoing his tie or toeing off his shoes, but he was suddenly completely without energy.

He’d never expected it to end like this – he’d never expected it to end. His omega had walked out on him. There was no cultural script for that, no way to call up Sam and say, “Hey, yeah, that omega I was dating left me, I’m kind of blue.” It just didn’t happen – omegas were the ones who loved hardest, who clung on, who were vulnerable and needy. Dean tried to push that thought away, knew it was selfish and unworthy of him, but he couldn’t help but circle back to _It wasn’t supposed to end like this._

He knew Cas was his own person and could do whatever he wanted – he’d said it aloud and often – and no, there’d never been any talk about commitment, Cas hadn’t misled him – but he loved Cas and as far as he’d been concerned, that was all there was to it. That was all there should have been.

He felt winded, like the air had been punched from his lungs, like the carpet had been pulled out from under his feet. He felt like none of it had been real. All those times Cas had quietly asked aloud why Dean had settled, all those little signs of Cas’s unhappiness that Dean had determinedly brushed aside, convinced they were just speed bumps or aberrations, those were real, and the life Dean thought they’d been building together was the fiction.

Dean realized he was angry. Cas was hurting and all Dean wanted to do was take care of him, and Cas wouldn’t let him. He was angry that Cas had made him watch his self-flagellation from a distance and was now punishing him for not being able to stop it.

Even as he thought it, wrenching guilty pleasure from blaming Cas, he knew it wasn’t fair. Cas wasn’t punishing him. He knew Cas loved him, knew how much it must have cost him to pull away.

And Dean knew he’d been pushing. Saying “I’m not pushing” wasn’t the same as not pushing. He’d just ... wanted ... dammit.

He felt a guilty sickness in his gut when he thought back on all the times they’d fooled around at work, despite the rules they said they’d obey. Cas had risked everything for him, and Dean hadn’t batted an eyelash. He didn’t believe Cas when he said that was the reason he was leaving, but it couldn’t have helped things.

He’d known Cas was headed towards some precipice, known he’d been circling it for the last few weeks. Dean had just thought he’d be able to help him through it when the crisis came.

He’d had faith in them.

But Cas had been relying on him and Dean had still failed him, somehow.

For the first time in his entire life, Dean thought he had a glimpse of what Cas had been driving at – he felt like a bad alpha.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel threw himself into his work.

There was a part of him that was angry at everything – at the universe, at himself, at Dean (unjustly so) – but that part was so much smaller than the part that had gone numb and quiet. He wanted desperately to stay angry, to sink his teeth into something, to yell at someone, but he couldn’t sustain it.

He felt himself curling inwards like a dead leaf, edges fraying and crackling. There was no cold resolve, no hot rage ... it all had dried out of him, and he was left with the flimsy comfort that he’d done the smart thing, been logical about it all.

Baby steps had been too hard.

He was grateful to find how easy it was slip back into the rhythm of ten, eleven, twelve hours at the office, weekends at the office, mealtimes at the office. They all had to do it from time to time, and nobody batted an eye.

Nobody except Anna.

“You look like a zombie,” she said bluntly. She must have been able to tell that there was something off about his scent. Castiel knew it had gone thin and blanched.

“Is Raphael ready for our meeting?” he asked her, ignoring her comment.

“You should slow down,” she said.

Castiel couldn’t slow down, because slowing down meant going home to his empty apartment, with all his clothes still in half-packed boxes and no couch, just the blank space in the middle of the room. Unpacking had been too difficult – everything smelled like Dean.

He tried to console himself, to rationalize it: It wasn’t nearly as bad as breaking a blood bond would have been. If it felt this bad now, it would have been worse later on. It was better this way. It would have been inevitable.

It was cold comfort.

He spent the days wandering without compass or tiller. He had to re-read his briefs three and four times for anything to sink in. He was sharp in conversations, distracted and curt. Everything felt simultaneously raw and distant.

“You’re bitchy these days,” commented Zachariah, with a knowing smirk.

The thought that Zachariah could sense that something was off because he’d left the man he loved should have disgusted him, but all Castiel could manage was a kind of dull irritation. It was hard to feel anything. He ignored Zachariah. There were no stakes any more.

He was aware, vaguely, of Anna steering him in the right direction during meetings, making sure he knew what was on his schedule for the day.

“You’re not my PA,” he told her, dully, when he realized she was managing him. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“That’s a weird way of saying thank you.”

It was the first time someone had called him on his shit since he’d left Dean. Castiel nodded, abashed, and suddenly found himself unable to speak past the lump in throat.

“I’m sorry,” said Anna, abruptly. And then she did something she’d never done before – she walked around his desk and hugged him.

Castiel didn’t have it in him to even think about rejecting that kind of comfort. She pulled him tight, and he sank into the embrace in a silent _thank-you_. The minty vibrancy of her beta scent was unfamiliar and strange up close, but soothing all the same.

She let him breathe.

“I’m sorry I was rude,” he mumbled eventually, into her jacket. He knew he sounded like a child. He didn’t care.

“Don’t worry about it.” When she sensed he’d managed to regain his composure, she pulled away gently, and pretended not to notice as he wiped his face.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Anna asked without preamble.

Castiel shook his head. It was so far from the truth, he didn’t know where to begin correcting her.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked.

“I ... think I need you to help me pretend that nothing’s wrong right now.”

She smiled. “Yes, sir. That I can do.” She gave his arm a friendly squeeze. “The briefs are done – I’ll have them to you by noon.”

“Thanks, Anna.”

She stopped at the door. “In my experience,” she said softly, “we all need someone to take care of us sometimes. There’s no shame in that, Castiel.”

 

He’d been holding off texting Dean. They’d been e-mailing, of course, but their e-mails had always been strictly professional – it had been one of his rules. Maybe it was inappropriate to text Dean now. Maybe it was unfair. He was the one who’d left, after all; it wasn’t his place to initiate or demand anything. It was Dean’s prerogative to let him know he was wanted, if he was wanted.

On the other hand, he knew the only thing that had kept him from Dean was his own pride. Anna had reminded him that he had to start acting like an adult sometime, and it might as well be now.

Castiel: How are you doing?

It was a stupid enough thing to ask, especially at 10:30 in the morning, when he knew Dean was at work, but Castiel couldn’t think of any other way to begin. He was surprised when Dean texted back almost immediately.

Dean: Not amazing. My boyfriend broke up with me.

It was impossible to tell exactly what Dean was feeling with an answer like that. Castiel forged ahead anyways, with the one thing he knew for sure.

Castiel: I’m sorry.

Dean: I’m not trying to feed your guilt machine. I know you’re sorry.

Dean: How are you doing?

Castiel: What do you think?

Dean: I honestly don’t know.

Dean: I have no idea what’s going through your head right now.

Dean: Why’d you text me?

Castiel: To ask how you are.

And then, selfishly: I miss you.

Dean: I miss you too.

Dean: Please tell me you’re coming home.

Castiel: Dean.

Dean: Okay. I got it.

 

Sometimes it was like things had barely changed.

Castiel: Have you had water today?

Dean: You forfeited the right to bug me about hydration when you broke up with me.

Castiel: You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d had water.

Dean: Fine, I’m doing it.

Castiel: I’ll find out from Adam if you’re lying.

 

Other times, Castiel couldn’t wrap his head around how alien it all was.

Castiel: Did I leave my tablet at your place?

Dean: Yep.

Dean: You left a lot of your stuff here.

Castiel: I know.

Dean: I’ll drop it off tonight.

Castiel: Don’t come over.

Castiel: I didn’t mean it like that.

Castiel: But I can’t see you.

Castiel couldn’t see him, because seeing Dean would bring him to his knees. He didn’t trust himself not to crumble.

 

Dean: Morning.

Dean: I miss you.

Castiel: I miss you too.

He couldn’t put into words how much he missed Dean. He was jumping every time he smelled an alpha on the street, the need for scent-comfort was getting so bad. But that was nothing compared to the knowledge that people rarely got second chances in life, and he’d thrown his away in the name of self-preservation.

 

Castiel: This is so hard. Does texting make it harder?

Castiel: Or should I stop talking to you?

Dean: You know what I want to say.

Dean:Would you be happier if I didn’t say it?

Castiel: I can’t come home, Dean.

Dean: I love you.

Castiel: I’m sorry.

Dean: Quit being fucking sorry – it’s the most frustrating thing in the world.

Castiel: You can’t fix this, Dean. It just is.

Dean: I don’t understand why.

Dean: Cas, you there?

Dean: Cas, baby, just talk to me.

 

When it became clear that Cas wasn’t going to text him back right away, Dean tossed his phone aside and lowered his head to his hands. He was never sure if he was helping his cause or hindering it when he texted Cas.

He shook his head forcefully. Focus, he needed to focus on the job in front of him. And that, unfortunately, was the onerous task of convincing Crowley to get on board with Sandover.

Since losing Gordon, he’d been schmoozing double-time, and tonight was the culmination of a lot of hard wooing. Sometimes he wondered if the reason he loved Cas so much was how unimpressed Cas seemed with his charm factor, how resistant he was to anything that looked or smelled like being managed.

A night with a pair of humans like Crowley and Cain took a certain frame of mind. Anti-omega tendencies could sometimes be worse in humans, because they lacked the ability to truly read weres. Alphas and betas had been telling them for centuries that omegas were weak and sweet and naturally suited to be second-class citizens, and what did they know otherwise?

Dean knew enough about Cain to have pegged him as one of those type-A human guys you sometimes found who looked up to alphas; Crowley was a little harder to pin down, but Dean knew him to be vaguely distrustful of weres in general, preferred them fixing his cars and his meals than brokering his deals.

Dean felt it was necessary to grab a shot at the bar before he found their table.

The whole thing started off pleasantly enough, though. Dean was at his most charming and persuasive, and Crowley and Cain were amenable – especially Cain. All Dean had to do, he reminded himself, was wine them and dine them and laugh at their stupid fucking jokes. He’d done it a million times before, so he couldn’t have said why it was bothering him tonight, why he was feeling jittery and unhappy.

“Check that out,” Cain said to Dean, nudging him with his arm to direct his attention to a woman – a very attractive woman – standing at the bar, waiting for her drink. “She an omega?”

Dean, a little surprised at the breach in etiquette, nodded in the affirmative.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Cain is convinced he has were-dar.”

“It’s true, though,” Cain insisted, clearly glad of Dean’s affirmation. “Sometimes you know just to look at them. That girl – one look and you can tell she’s begging for someone to tell her what to do.”

That’s not what it _means_ , Dean wanted to protest, but he stopped himself. This evening wasn’t about asshole education – it was about sealing the deal.

Crowley, meanwhile, ignored Cain and gave Dean a long look. “What about it, eh?” he asked, nodding at the woman.

“Not my type,” Dean shrugged, when he realized Crowley was waiting for an answer.

“That’s right, I’d forgot,” said Crowley, “You’re shacking up with that Novak fellow, aren’t you?”

Dean had received worse shocks in his life, so he tried not to let on that he was surprised, but he was. Play it cool, Winchester. He tried to act as though his personal life was an acceptable topic of conversation, not a sensitive topic, and _certainly_ not a topic with any serious professional ramifications. Nope, just some dude he was railing. Okay.

“How do you know Castiel?” asked Dean, neglecting to answer Crowley directly.

“We retained him for a while,” said Cain. “Came recommended. I pegged him as kind of anal-retentive. Fine-looking, I guess?” he offered, with all the attendant awkwardness of a certain kind of heterosexual man trying to adjust to the knowledge that his idol was into dudes.

“Icy, though,” commented Crowley, with a look that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. “How’s breaking that in going?”

“Don’t tell me that little ice queen’s actually subservient around you, is he?” laughed Cain.

Another were would have been able to tell that they had a limited number of seconds to back the fuck off, but most people weren’t weres. Dean suspected Crowley was pushing him on purpose, trying to get a rise.

“Don’t make me kiss and tell, guys,” said Dean, in what felt like a monumentally clumsy effort to defuse. He was feeling slimier and angrier by the second.

“That’s the thing about omegas, though,” said Cain, forging ahead with the authority of ignorance. “You see them in public and they can be the bitchiest suns of guns – but you tell’em to go down and they go. It’s in their genes. They can’t help it. You know, it’s why I’m fed up with all this PC shit – there’s just some stuff omegas can’t do, and it’s not wrong to say so, you know?”

“Although I can’t envision Mr. Novak dropping to his knees on just anyone’s say-so,” said Crowley, and yeah, okay, he was definitely trying to get a rise out of Dean.

Dean gritted his teeth, forced a smile. What the hell was wrong with him tonight? Amateur mind-games shouldn’t be enough to get him flustered.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. He was aching to stand up for Cas – or at least punch Cain in the throat for talking him about him like that – but he couldn’t be seen to have a vested interest in him.

And so he sat and listened, unflinching, as Crowley and Cain dissected Cas, _his_ Cas. He suppressed every possessive, protective alpha impulse he had as he listened to their lewdness.

He deserved a gold fucking star from the universe.

Crowley was smirking, just a little. This was a test, and Dean knew he was being a coward.

Somehow, Dean made it through dinner and drinks. Handshakes all around, agreements after the third whiskey, and he was out, solid, golden, hadn’t punched anyone or confirmed anyone’s suspicions about why alphas made bad CEOs. He’d done his damn fucking job and he couldn’t have felt worse.

He went back to the office.

He should have gone home, but home was where Cas wasn’t and he couldn’t face that right now.

Dean landed on the couch in his office. He felt slimy and gross and angry and he wanted nothing more than to hold Cas in his arms. He wanted to call him and apologize for ... _something_. Still a little drunk from dinner, he had his phone out and ready before he forced himself to stop. He knew Cas would be the first one to tell him that he’d done what was necessary, because that was the job and professionals did the damn job.

Besides, Cas wasn’t his boyfriend any more – it wasn’t for Dean to burden him with his shitty evening.

And then, suddenly, the overwhelming understanding that this was the kind of shit Cas deal with every damn day. Dean was upset because he’d spent, what, an evening with a couple assholes? For Cas, this was normal.

And it wasn’t fair, but it _was_.

Dean put the phone down.

He sat on the couch in the dark, staring at the wall for a long while. Reaching his decision, he fired off an e-mail to Adam. He’d see it first-thing in the morning.

And then Dean went home.

 

Dean had stopped texting.

Castiel didn’t ask why.

In a way, it was a relief. He’d known it had to end sometime.

He stopped checking for new messages.

He still drifted dully through the workday, but without daily contact from Dean, he thought it might get easier. He applied himself a little more, worked a little harder, tried to pay attention when Uriel was speaking. Most days, though, he felt like a ghost.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that Raphael noticed.

Castiel was on the phone when Raphael knocked; Castiel gestured him in without hesitation and made the universal signal for “I’ll be done in a minute.” It wasn’t until he ended the call and turned to see Raphael looking puffed-up and uncomfortable in the chair in front of him that he realized something was up.

“Sir?” he prompted.

“Castiel,” Raphael began, then cleared his throat and started over again. “It’s no secret that you’re an omega.”

_What the hell._

Since this was the first time since his entrance interview that Raphael had explicitly acknowledged this fact, Castiel was surprised – but he swallowed it immediately. His shock at Raphael’s statement was the first real thing he’d felt in weeks.

He narrowed his eyes and focused the full power of his stare on the nervous man – uncharacteristically nervous – sitting in front of him.

“I know,” he said. “I don’t keep it a secret.”

“And I was fine with it – _am_ fine with it.” _Then why’s your pulse racing?_ “All I asked for when I brought you on was that it wouldn’t become ... an issue.”

“ _Has_ it become an issue?” Castiel deadpanned, refusing to go where Raphael was trying to lead him.

Raphael wasn’t so easily dissuaded.

“There’ve been some ... rumours that you’re engaged in a romantic relationship with Dean Winchester.”

“Are there.”

Raphael met Castiel’s stoneface with one of his own. “Yes.”

“What do those rumours have to do with my being an omega?”

“You can see how it looks, Novak.”

“How does it look, sir?”

“Stop being defensive,” Raphael snapped, dropping the placid facade. “I’m trying to protect you, here. You’re one of my best, and I’d hate to lose you. If word gets out that you’re sleeping with a client – ”

Castiel wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep or the dull misery of the past two weeks, but something possessed him to interrupt his boss then.

“We both know that’s not true. It happens all the time, just not with omegas. Because you think – despite everything I’ve done for this firm – that being an omega means I’m less capable. That I’m strong _despite_ the fact that I’m an omega, not because of it. Even though I’m your best solicitor, you know that having an omega on your staff opens you up to ridicule. You’re not worried about my reputation, you’re worried about your own. If Uriel was having an affair with a client, it wouldn’t matter. It only matters because I’m an omega.”

Raphael interrupted him. “Yes, Castiel, it _does_ matter. We live in the real world here, not some magical fucking fairyland where nobody cares about were distinctions and we all get along. I can’t have you sleeping with a client.”

Well. That was fair enough. Point to Raphael.

“Okay,” said Castiel, leaning back in his seat. “I get it, sir, I really do. You have to protect the firm’s reputation. I understand your concern, even if I don’t agree with it. So if it bothers you that much – ”

“I don’t want you to do anything hasty, Castiel, I only meant – ”

“If it bothers you,” Castiel bullied through, like he hadn’t heard, “then I propose that you move the account to Uriel. There’ll be no conflict of interest then.”

Raphael balked. If he’d have wanted Uriel in charge of the Sandover contract, he’d have put Uriel on it in the first place. He clearly hadn’t anticipated this.

“What’s the matter?” pressed Castiel. “Uriel can handle it.”

Raphael was quiet for a beat. “I was expecting you to deny it,” he admitted, quietly.

“You thought I was going to lie?”

“I thought you were going to play it off. But you and Winchester really are ... ?”

That touched Castiel in a sensitive spot, but he wasn’t about to open up and spill his aching heart to Raphael. He didn’t need to know. “Whatever Dean and I are to each other, as long as it doesn’t interfere with work, it shouldn’t matter to you.”

“I can’t have that, and you know it.”

Castiel knew he wasn’t operating on logic right now. He knew he was being reckless and stupid. He didn’t care. He wasn’t about to throw Dean under the bus just to protect his pride. “Okay. Fine. I understand. If it’s Sandover or Dean, then I choose Dean. Transfer Sandover to Uriel. Fewer complications. Keeps things simple. I know you don’t like complications.”

Raphael blanched. “Don’t be an idiot, Castiel – I don’t want Uriel on this, I want you. You’re the best I’ve got.”

“I know. It doesn’t seem like that’s inspired a lot of loyalty in you, though.”

Raphael sighed, and stared at Castiel, long and hard. Castiel was not moved. He stared back. “Well, the thing is, I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got in touch with Mr. Winchester yesterday.”

It took Castiel several seconds to process that blow. “You went behind my back?”

“Just to check in with him.”

“In light of the _rumours_?” asked Castiel, scathingly.

“ _Yes_. Don’t pretend to be upset about that, it’s my job. And he ... was rather short with me. Didn’t take well to my suggestion. He said he wanted his account in your hands, and nobody else’s.”

Castiel found that he wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t surprising that Dean had faith in him, that Dean – despite everything – knew the value of his abilities. It was just what it should be. It was exactly what he’d come to expect from Dean, because Dean had never treated him like a second-class anything, had never, ever doubted him.

“He said he trusted you with his interests.”

“He should. Do _you_?”

Raphael stood. “Apparently it doesn’t matter what I think. I’m just your boss. But for the record, yes, I do.”

“You just wish I weren’t an omega.”

“Well, _yes_ , Castiel, it’s a little inconvenient,” Raphael said, witheringly. “Don’t you think so?”

 _Yes_ was on the tip of his tongue.

Except ... he’d been doing okay. Better than okay, really. He’d always known he was strong and competent and capable. He’d made it this far as an omega and he was going to make it further, and yes, it had been hard, he’d had to fight for it, but it had been easier with Dean to lean on ...

“Raphael, I should inform you that I’m taking the rest of the week off. I’ll see you Monday. Now please get out of my office.”

Sensing that he had overstepped the mark, Raphael acquiesced quietly, without checking Castiel’s rudeness.

Castiel’s body was buzzing like he’d had too much coffee, but his head was wonderfully clear and lucid.

If Dean trusted him enough to keep him on the account, maybe he’d trust him enough to let him apologize, honestly and properly. Castiel didn’t think he deserved a third chance, but maybe Dean did.

He called Anna. “Is Dean at the office?”

“Why?” she asked, suspiciously. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Anna, I just need to talk to him.”

“He’s out of town this week,” she replied. “Adam says he’s been e-mailing, but he doesn’t know where he went.”

That was okay. Castiel did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commenters: you are are awesome. Thanks so much for your encouragement and your critical feedback - you're what makes this so much fun! I love you all.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean lay on his back in the master bedroom. He hadn’t been back to the lake house in months, but the bed still smelled like Cas’s heat – there was just a touch of omega brightness that bled through the synthetic scent of the fabric detergent.

He rolled over and buried his nose in it, well aware that he was making things worse for himself. He had an image of Cas in that bed, horny and drowsy with heat, reaching out for Dean shamelessly. Dean groaned at the shiver of arousal that shot through him with the memory. God, Cas. Dean had known from the moment he’d seen him in that boardroom he was hooked.

How had things gotten so fucked up?

Even though he knew Cas needed space now, had asked Dean for the patience to let him figure this out on his own, Dean wasn’t sure if he hadn’t done exactly the wrong thing by leaving. Putting up a fight was more his style. He was used to demanding what he wanted and getting it, and leaving felt like giving up. But Cas had asked him not to push. And Dean, all too aware that he’d been pushing, knew that respecting Cas’s wishes might just mean letting him go completely.

With those entirely unsatisfying thoughts drifting through his head, and Cas’s scent lingering in the bedclothes, he dozed off.

Dean awoke much later, after the sun had set, to a noise downstairs. He hadn’t bothered to lock the door – nobody came up the road this far. He rolled over onto his back, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes.

“Bobby, that you?” Dean yelled, not willing to get up and check.

He heard quiet footsteps on the stairs.

Dean groaned. “I don’t have your damn drill, Bobby, I told you!”

“We do, actually,” said Cas, gently pushing the bedroom door all the way open. “You used it to put up the shelves.”

His voice was low and tentative, but his scent hit Dean in the chest like a craving. He sat up in a rush, but Cas stayed where he was – he didn’t enter the room.

“Cas?” Dean croaked. “What are you doing here?”

It wasn’t the most brilliant opener, but he suddenly felt self-conscious – he hadn’t bathed or shaved in two days. He felt a little ashamed that he’d spent the last few days wallowing, and he felt a little defensive about feeling ashamed. He knew Cas could smell that he was grumpy and peevish and had been driving himself deeper into a thoroughly shitty mood. But he also knew that Cas could smell beneath that, could sense his real despair, bitter and harsh.

Maybe that was what had made him stop at the threshold.

“Can I come in?” Cas asked, cautiously.

Dean nodded, swinging his legs to the floor and shifting over so that Cas could sit beside him. Dean wanted nothing more than to fold Cas in his arms and press him down into the comforter and breathe him in, but Cas – wisely – left a healthy amount of space between their bodies.

Obediently, Dean stayed still.

After a moment, Cas reached over and silently slipped his hand into Dean’s. He was breathing deeply, parsing the bitterness in Dean’s scent.

Dean’s chest felt tight – he wanted to prompt – but he didn’t. He gave Cas’s hand a squeeze and let him work through it on his own time.

“So,” said Cas eventually, staring at the wall, “I think I’ve been a bit of an idiot.” He let out a sigh. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I left like that.”

Dean shook his head. “You’ve said sorry enough. You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“Yes I do. I owe you that much.”

Dean put a pin in that, ignored it for now. “Does this mean you’re back?”

“If you’ll have me.” But there was hesitancy in his voice, and sourness in his scent, and Dean wasn’t satisfied. He put a pin in that, too, because he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to touch, he had to – he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skull if he didn’t. He reached out to brush a stray piece of Cas’s hair away from his temple.

Cas let his eyes fall to half-mast at the chaste graze of skin. His skin was warm against Dean’s fingertips, almost flushed.

That Cas had been as miserable as him, Dean had no doubt.

“I don’t need an apology, Cas,” Dean murmured, rubbing the pad of his thumb against Cas’s cheek, “but I could use an explanation.”

“It wasn’t you,” Cas said, eyes still fixed on the wall. “It wasn’t anything you did. You were so patient. I just ...” He took a gulp of air, took another. “You’re going to have to accept that. It’s nothing you did and it’s nothing you can fix.”

“Cas – ”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” he let out in a rush, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes with his big, clear blue ones. “I didn’t know what to do.”

And that was it, that was as much as Dean could take of Cas’s interminable inability to let anyone help him.

“You should have _talked_ to me, you idiot.”

Tilting Cas’s face up to meet his, Dean closed the gap between them, breathing hard. He kissed Cas desperately, thoroughly, like if he didn’t do this right Cas was going to disappear forever – and then Cas was kissing him back, hungry and frail all at once.

Dean let out a trembling groan as Cas’s lips pressed against his, shaky, weak little _yeses_ for every silent question Dean was asking.

It had been so long – Dean was aching for him in every way. He was keenly aware of how terrible he must smell, but Cas made a noise in his throat that couldn’t be disguised as anything but want and Dean surged forward, newly inflamed. He grabbed two handfuls of Cas’s shirt and pushed him to the bed, let his own body weight shove them down further into the bedclothes, as though the closer he could get the more readily Cas would believe this was real, that it mattered, that his place was here.

His hands ran over Cas’s forearms, neck, undoing his shirt buttons, trying desperately to touch all the skin they could, and Cas pushed back into the touch, clearly as thirsty for it as Dean was. Dean ran his hands up along the newly-bared lines of Cas’s torso, pressed the lengths of their bodies together, and let his head fall to that soft cradle where Cas’s shoulder met his neck. Cas brought his arms around Dean in a shaky embrace, lips fumbling and feverish against his temple.

“Wait, wait,” he panted, and Dean knew exactly what he meant – it was too much, it was overwhelming, they hadn’t smelled each other like this in _weeks_ and their scents were intertwining and they were both dizzy and confused with the overload.

Dean let his forehead drop to rest on Cas’s bare chest, press gentle kisses there.

They hadn’t solved anything yet, hadn’t touched the wounds, but he was in Cas’s arms and Cas smelled like home – Cas _was_ home – and for a moment, that was all that mattered.

Time left them as they took solace in the weight and shape of it all. They panted, stilled, breathing each other in, letting their bodies get used to each other again.

“Are you okay?” whispered Dean, pressing his lips to the smooth, warm skin of Cas’s neck – not kisses anymore, just drags of pressure, tasting. He neither focused on nor avoided the lines of the faded scar. “Please tell me you’re okay. I worried about you.”

Cas’s hands tightened on his biceps – it was easy to forget how strong Cas was; he so rarely insisted on it. The pressure was firm and Dean took the hint, pushed himself up to rest on his forearms so he could look Cas in the face.

“I think so. I’m not sure.” Cas let out a laugh, but it was shaky, almost a sob. His hands tightened where they rested on Dean’s shoulders. “I was okay before you. I thought I was past all that. I had it figured out – I thought I could do it, I could get by. You complicated everything. You make me want to get down on my knees.”

“Cas, I – ”

Cas cut him off. “But you made it so much better, too. Dean,” he said, and his voice was heavy in his throat as he reached up to cup Dean’s cheek. “I love you. I love you so much. I know I’m safe with you. But you can’t magically make me feel better just because you want me to be okay. I’m sorry. That’s my responsibility. I have to do that myself.”

“I know,” said Dean, slowly, because did, he truly did. “I don’t think you’re made of glass – I’m not worried about breaking you. I know you don’t need me to protect you. Just ... please don’t be afraid to lean on me a little, too.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.”

“I know you didn’t. But it’s not _weakness_ to need help. This is life. Nobody gets out alone.” Dean shut his eyes in preparation of the question he knew he had to ask. “I just ... Cas, I can’t ... I have to know. Are you going to leave me again?”

“I think that’s the omega’s line,” Cas quipped, but his heart wasn’t in it – there was a miserable kind of guilt on his face.

“Cas. Honey. What are you afraid of?”

Cas – master of professional and precise and calculable – looked at him with something like despair.

Too much. Okay. Dean leaned down to kiss him again, reassuring. Cas clung to him with all the omega neediness that he distrusted so much, and Dean felt like his heart was going to burst.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” he whispered, nonsense nothings. He shifted his weight to the side, so that Cas wouldn’t feel pinned down. Cas made a mournful noise in his throat at the loss of contact, and Dean pulled him in close, settled them side-by-side. He didn’t want to squeeze him too tight, didn’t want to do anything that would remind him of the weight of commitment that scared him so much.

This was okay. They could just be. Like this, their lips touching rather than kissing, slow and comfortable. Gentle. Warm. Happy. Like this, here, now, Cas was happy. Scent didn’t lie. The register had sunk; it was heavier, earthier, like the breeze off the lake in autumn.

Cas slipped his hands into Dean’s hair and Dean groaned. He’d missed that especially. It wasn’t an alpha thing to want soft touches, gentle comfort, but Cas didn’t care about any of that – he just cared about what Dean liked.

“Last person to do that was my mom,” Dean murmured, too surprised by the memory to keep it to himself.

“You don’t talk about your mother,” Cas observed. It was an idle comment, but Dean realized he was right. He’d kept that one close.

“Mom died when I was little,” Dean murmured, by way of context. “I think I was four. I don’t remember much about her, but everyone was always telling me how wonderful she was. Dad took it hard when she died. Sam was just a baby.”

Dean realized he hadn’t told Cas any of this. He’d avoided mentioning his father to such an extent that he’d failed to share with Cas anything about his family, period. Which perhaps was not the best way of convincing someone you wanted to build a life with them.

“Right,” said Dean, scooting up a little so Cas had easier access to his scalp, “so, story time. You’re going to meet Sam someday soon, so I’ll kill you if you tell him this, but I’m really proud of him. See, Dad had it tough, single alpha father trying to raise two cubs – he wasn’t cut out for it. I think he’d been raised pretty traditionally. And later, when we both presented as alphas ... well, our relationship was strained, let’s put it that way. And it wasn’t just the normal alpha-alpha butting heads stuff, either. It was messed up.”

It had been a while since Dean had shared this with anybody, but he was getting into a rhythm now. “Dad couldn’t see past mom’s death. I was never sure if he was blaming us or blaming himself. All he knew was that he was supposed to be the strong one, whatever that meant, and he couldn’t deal with the fact that he’d lost her.

“Anyways, Sam was the smart one – he straight-up left. And for a long time I blamed Sam for it, instead of holding dad to task for his shitty behaviour, because it was easier that way.” He sighed. “Anyways. Eventually I got my head screwed around straight and realized that Dad was the kind of alpha I didn’t want to be. I patched things up with Sam, and I left Dad to his own devices, and here I am.”

Cas made a sympathetic noise. “Where’s your father now?”

“Out of the picture,” Dean said firmly. “I’m not sure he even knows he’s got a grandkid. Who you’re going to meet as soon as Sam gets his ass up to the cabin.”

“Your mother was a were?”

“No, a human. She was beautiful. It’s weird ... I don’t remember what she looked like, but I remember how pretty she was, if that makes sense.” Dean nudged Cas with his forehead. “How about you?” he asked. “What about your family?”

Cas was silent for a moment. Dean could tell he was measuring his words, unsure where to begin. Eventually, “They were traditional, too. It sounds clichéd, but there it is. I had to fight to go to school. They couldn’t fathom it when I said I wanted to go into law.”

“Good career.”

“Not for an omega, not according to my mother. Anyways,” and here his voice took on a slightly detached tone, as though he were going by rote, “I met this guy, he seemed nice, I hit heat, you know the drill. We were young and stupid, and there was pressure from our families to settle down. He’d been raised in the roles, too, and I thought ... okay, this, at least, my parents will approve of. I could make up for everything if I just mated a good, strong alpha.”

He shifted in Dean’s arms, like he was irritated by the memory of it. “It was a bad match. I knew almost right away we weren’t compatible. I should have called it off, but my family liked him, and I didn’t want to let them down, so ... we mated.”

Cas paused, and Dean realized it was an invitation. Carefully, he pushed back the folds of Cas’s shirt, ran his fingers soothingly over the faded bite scar. He knew the shape of it well by now, could see how the angle had been all wrong. It was too low, too close to the shoulder, at the place where an alpha could damage muscle if they got carried away.

“He wasn’t trying to hurt me,” Cas said, neutrally, as Dean brushed his hand over the skin. He knew they were talking about more than just the scar now. “Not in the beginning. He just wasn’t careful enough. Nobody had taught him any better.

“At first he said he didn’t mind if I worked or had a life outside the home. I think he thought it would be easy. But it wasn’t. It got hard, and we fought a lot, and he got controlling, and ... I don’t know. I wasn’t what he wanted and he got frustrated, started blaming me for things. He started insisting on obedience. And when I was in heat, there was nothing I could do – we were mated, and I _had_ to obey him.”

Cas took a shivery breath, and Dean ached to say something, but he wasn’t going to interrupt. “One day, he told me he wanted me to quit my articling job, and I just thought ... no. I didn’t want that. It was the final straw. I asked if we could separate, and he said no, so Ibroke the bond and I left.”

Cas’s delivery was so blasé that it took Dean a moment to realize what he’d said. “You broke it on your own?”

Cas looked up at Dean and nodded grimly, awaiting Dean’s verdict. “I told you,” he said softly. “Bad omega.”

Bond-breaking was usually a mutual thing, out of necessity, and almost always at the alpha’s discretion – it took a lot of will for an omega to break a bond. You heard stories of omegas being abandoned and left to pick up the pieces, but omegas never did the leaving.

“Brave,” Dean corrected, impressed. He kissed the bite scar reverently, then let his head fall back to rest on Cas’s shoulder. “You were brave.”

“Bravery’s not such a valuable trait in an omega,” Cas continued, but he was clearly relieved by Dean’s response. He kissed the top of Dean’s head. “Being mated was terrible, but breaking the bond was even worse. We hated each other by the end of it, but when you’re mated, your body’s in control, and mine was convinced I was leaving the only person in the world that mattered. It was lying to me, all the time, trying to force me to go back to him.

“Long story short, I got sick. It almost torpedoed my career. I had to go on injections after that. I couldn’t handle my heats without him. To be mated and not have your mate ... it wasn’t good. It sucked. I survived. My family stopped talking to me and I stopped caring.”

Dean made a noise in his throat. He’d been trying not to interrupt, but he took Cas’s free hand in his, stroked the delicate bones of the back of the hand, aware of how lucky he was to have met him, how easily they could have missed each other.

“I kept thinking I should be able to get over it,” Cas said slowly. “Other omegas deal with worse every day. It shouldn’t have been that hard. I tried therapy, but it didn’t … I wasn’t honest about it. In the back of my head, I always knew ... I’d broken it, that was on me. I was a disappointment. And then I met you, and I couldn’t stand the thought that I might let you down – ”

“You never disappointed me,” Dean said, raising his head swiftly. “I would never – ”

“You’re nothing like him,” Cas said firmly. “Dean, I know you’re nothing like him. Don’t even think it. But wanting to be with you made me look at all the pieces I’d broken. I never thought I’d have to put them back together, I thought could just ignore them, and I – it’s hard. But I promise I’m in this with you one hundred percent. I promise I’m not running away from this again.”

It was everything Dean needed to hear. He twined their fingers together. After a moment, he asked, “Do you want to go back to therapy?”

Cas nodded. “I think I should. If you and I are gonna – ”

“Yeah,” grinned Dean, pressing their foreheads together. “We’re gonna.”

“Well,” Cas said, with the first real smile of the evening, “I guess I’d better, then. I’ve got ... um, some stuff to deal with. But I promise I’ll stop shutting you out.”

“Good. Because you’re not doing this alone.” Dean answered the unasked question. “You can lean on me – I’m not going to leave you. I’ll never leave you.”

Cas leaned over and captured his lips in a grateful kiss, warm and full of hope.

It felt a little like a first kiss.

“Cas,” Dean breathed against his lips, cupping his mate’s head in his hand. “No matter what you are, you’re always going to be my good omega.”

And Dean knew everything was going to be alright when Cas broke away from him with a grin and said, point-blank, “That was disgusting.”

Dean laughed. “It was good, right? I’m going to call Hallmark in the morning. Hell, Cas, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Cas got a little squirmy at that. “Raphael told me what you said to him when he called. About me. I guess I needed the reminder. You’re perfect, did you know that?”

Unlike Cas, Dean was perfectly happy to receive that kind of praise. Everything in his alpha hindbrain was suffused with satisfaction as his omega looked up at him. Cas probably didn’t even know how much adoration he was transmitting through those big blue eyes of his.

“How’d you leave things with him? Okay?”

“Not really.” There was a smile on Cas’s lips. “I might have told him where to stick it, so ... we’ll deal with that on Monday.”

“You don’t think you’re going to get fired, do you?” Dean asked with a wince, well aware that this was definitely his fault.

“Nah,” said Cas, leaning back on the bed and stretched “They can’t afford to lose me. I’m the best they’ve got.”

 _There_ was his sassy omega. Dean gave Cas’s hand a squeeze. “Glad you stayed.”

Cas nodded and smiled. “Me too.” And with that, Dean’s omega leaned over for another kiss.

 

* * *

 

Dean blinked awake, unsure what had woken him. It was still dark out, but the room was pregnant with pre-dawn light. Cas’s warm weight felt so natural in his arms that he could barely remember the days and weeks that had come before. It took him a moment to put the pieces together.

That Cas was back, that he was home, that Dean felt whole again.

That Cas’s scent had shifted in the night, and instead of a warm, mellow baseline, all Dean could smell was the brash, urgent brightness of _omega-in-heat_.

That his own body had gone hard and tense and _hungry_. He could taste Cas on his lips, feel the potency of his rut beginning to pulse through his muscles.

He looked at Cas, still asleep, head tucked down on the pillow by Dean’s chest. He felt a shot of _wantyouherepleasenow_ punch through his stomach, so hard and fast he almost keened aloud.

Even asleep, Cas wasn’t unaffected: his face was already twitching as his body began to respond to Dean’s heightened scent. Cas smelled amazing. It was ... it was beyond Dean’s ability to describe, seductive and soothing but bright, too; like mint in a wound or electricity on his tongue.

Cas was in heat. Cas finally was in heat and Dean was on his rut and finally, finally they were synching up –

Dean pulled in a few deep breaths as he tried to relax. Okay, sure, he felt like the fire of a thousand suns was coursing through his veins, but he had it – this hunger wasn’t going to control him. This didn’t feel like the usual animalistic drive, either; there was no ugly tang of helplessness. The urgency was there, but it was still low, almost tempered. Dean thought he might be able to resist it, if he had to.

Cas stirred against Dean’s chest, and Dean felt a ripple of anxiety underneath his thirst: he wondered if maybe he should go downstairs, clear out before anything happened. He wasn’t sure if rutting was such a great idea when Cas – okay, when _the both of them_ were feeling emotionally vulnerable after last night.

But then Cas’s head rolled up in a drowsy movement and his eyes opened, big and heavy and sleepy. He smiled, and his pupils dilated, and Dean could tell the second he got it.

“What ... oh. _Dean_.”

Dean felt the heat rush through his body as he leaned down and kissed Cas once, painfully chastely, on the lips.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning. Dean – ”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to. We can wait. If you’re not ready – ”

Cas took Dean gently by the jaw. “Dean. _Honey_. Are you crazy? We’ve been waiting for this for months.” He wrapped his arms around Dean’s chest and pulled them tight, nuzzling into Dean’s neck. Dean almost gasped from the heat of Cas’s lips. “It’s just ... I need ... Can you give me a minute?” he asked, in a voice that was husky and tremulous.

“Take your time,” said Dean. “We’re in no rush.” And as he said it, he realized it was true – Dean was in control of this burn. There was no painful edge. Cas was in his bed and wasn’t going anywhere. They were synched and all the frantic scrabbling of Dean’s previous ruts was forgotten. His heart rate was building and his blood felt like someone was stoking fires beneath it, but that was fine, it felt good, he was enjoying it. It was a little like being drunk. He could wait – it wasn’t a punishment to wait, not when he had Cas smelling so good and bright and strong beside him.

Cas breathed deep, letting his body acclimatize to Dean’s scent. He was already shaking a little, sweat gathering in the small of his back, and there was a tension in his arms as they wound around Dean that was just this side of anxious.

He knew Cas needed time to adjust to the heat blooming through his body, to accept the shift from strong and independent to willing submission.

“You’re okay, Cas, I’ve got you,” murmured Dean. He pressed his own unsteady lips to Cas’s sweaty temple and gave him all the time he needed to change gears.

Cas let out a choked laugh and pulled Dean tighter, but he let Dean talk him through it.

“This is just a part of you – this isn’t all of you. I know you better than that. You’re going to be just fine. I’m not him. I’m not going to order you to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re safe with me.”

Cas’s body was already pushing out frantic, blooming brightness, but with Dean’s words, his scent stepped up into a higher gear: Cas smelled creamy and silky now, no hard edges, everything gone bright and clean and welcoming.

The sensations went straight to Dean’s dick, already red and stiff between their bodies.

Dean’s heightened senses could take in everything: Cas’s elevated heartbeat, the way the morning shadows stretched and elongated against his skin, the way his pupils were dilating under his half-lowered lids, the smell of his natural slick.

And then – there – Cas’s eyes flicked up, naked hunger in his eyes.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

“Jesus, Cas.”

Because he was beautiful, he was, with a flush on his chest and his red lips moist and that decidedly un-omega-like glimmer in his eye, defying the centuries-old instinct that was trying to force him to his knees.

Docile, disobedient, it didn’t matter – Dean wanted Cas in every way imaginable, in whatever way he’d have him. Dean might have been an alpha, but he knew who his master was.

Whatever Cas saw in his face must have reassured him, because he was suddenly all business as he stripped off his shirt.

“Get these – fucking – things off,” he growled, struggling to push down the covers and pull off his boxers at the same time.

“Language,” Dean admonished, hauling him up to press a bruising kiss against his lips. Cas responded with a jolt and a gasp before giving back as good as he got, wet and sloppy and completely lost in it.

They were all hands all of a sudden, pulling and tugging fabric aside in their rush to kiss, nip, taste. Cas hadn’t had a heat in months and it was clear he had no thought of slowing down and savouring it. His hands roamed wildly, pulling against Dean’s shoulders and nails scraping over his back, his mouth hot and desperate. Dean licked Cas’s throat, ran his hands over his beautiful neck, attached his lips and teeth to his newly-sensitive nipples with _just_ enough force to bring Cas to a full, grinding stop in Dean’s lap.

The sound he made was impossibly hot.

“Dean,” Cas gasped, hips jerking of their own volition, bringing Cas’s dick into hot contact with Dean’s stomach, “I need you in me.”

He reached down to where Dean’s knot – and _hallelujah_ for heat – was already bulging and threatening to pop. He moved his leg aside and stroked his hand down between his crack – Dean’s stomach did a flip at the casual wantonness of the gesture – then wrapped his glistening fingers around Dean’s cock.

The first swipe of his hand brought Dean stuttering to a halt.

Dean’s dick was no stranger to Cas’s hand, but every stroke felt like a revelation, thumb firm as it rubbed over the pearling head.

“You keep doing that and I’m not going to last,” he warned, grinning like a loon and fully flooded with endorphins.

“That’s the plan. Come on, alpha,” Cas crooned, grinning back. “I need you to knot me.”

“Nope,” Dean said cheerfully, throwing his leg over Cas’s hip and shifting up so that he was straddling Cas completely. Cas looked up, surprised, and not in a bad way, as Dean brought the full force of his weight down on Cas’s hips.

Cas groaned as Dean’s dick pressed against his – then groaned again as Dean grabbed both of his wrists and pressed them to the bed in a firm grip.

“What’s this?” asked Cas, half a grin on his face as he writhed, antsy, on the bed.

“This is what you get for being sassy.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said, confused but not displeased – he was hard, too, and leaking, and Dean could tell exactly how okay he was with this.

Dean pressed a kiss to his navel. “And for the record, I love it when you’re sassy.”

“Does this mean you’re going to get around to fucking me in the next – ”

“Nope,” said Dean, and flipped Cas over onto his stomach before he could react.

Dean pinned his slender wrists to the bed again, with enough pressure that he could feel the bones beneath his sweaty palms. He leaned down to Cas’s ear.

“You gonna be patient and let me do this right?” Dean growled, letting the full force of his alpha take over, the alpha that wanted nothing more than to fuck this pretty little omega until he screamed, the alpha that couldn’t _believe_ he wasn’t already buried him in to the hilt. He let his cock press fat and heavy along the crack of Cas’s ass for emphasis, and Cas shuddered beneath him.

“I’ll do whatever you want if it means you do _that_ again,” he groaned.

“Good boy,” and Cas let out an involuntary whimper at the term of endearment. Dean kissed the back of his neck, a reward, a reminder that Cas wasn’t to feel embarrassed or ashamed about this, that Dean was here for him.

Cas was leaking profusely now, and Dean’s dick was rubbing slick and hot between his ass cheeks, but Dean forced himself to pull back.

Cas made a noise of protest, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Keep your hands right where they are,” Dean warned.

Cas gripped the sheets. “Yes, _sir_ ,” he said, with enough sauciness that Dean swatted him on the ass.

“Ah!” Cas hissed, grinning into the comforter, but he was obedient and didn’t move. “For the record, this is very close to actual torture.”

“Noted.”

Dean sat back and admired the view. Though Cas had never said as much, Dean knew he didn’t like standard presentation, preferred to look Dean in the eyes when they had sex – but for what he had planned, he wanted Cas on his front.

“Dean,” Cas whined, his voice shot through with a measure of genuine neediness now, “I’m not messing around, I really want – ”

“I know, baby, I’m not fucking with you,” Dean said. “I don’t want this to be like last time. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I remember being pretty into it last time,” Cas noted, but he settled himself on the bed and adjusted his hips a little.

“Thank you for humouring me,” said Dean with a smile, planting a small kiss to the divot on his omega’s ass. “Trust me?”

It was the tenderness in Dean’s voice that did it – all the cockiness seemed to bleed out of Cas, and left nothing behind but pliancy and patience. “You know I do.”

Slowly, carefully, even though he knew Cas was lubed up and slick, Dean let one finger slide in. Cas’s body quivered around him but Cas was silent, barely panting, _so good_ , when Dean added a second and a third and began to work him. The entire area was swollen and dripping and heavy, but Dean wasn’t going to take any chances.

It wasn’t about being ready – it was about making it good.

Dean proceeded to tease and stroke Cas into a whimpering mess. It wasn’t long before they were both panting, breath harsh and loud in the quiet room.

Dean pulled his fingers out, dripping with Cas’s creamy-sweet lube. He gave his own cock a few tugs with his wet hand, then parted Castiel’s ass with two big, broad hands and licked deep.

The moan that ripped out of Cas’s chest was primal and harsh. His hands fisted in the sheets and his hips cocked back to give Dean better access.

“Not so impatient now.” Dean laved another broad swath up along his crack. Cas was low and musky here, and when Dean spread his hole with his fingers and licked _in_ , Cas let out a sound that Dean didn’t think he’d ever heard before.

But it was nothing compared to the noise he made a few moments later, when Dean reached around and under with one slick hand and rubbed. Dean didn’t have the angle or the coordination to do anything more than rub, really, but Cas was full-on keening, body desperate to be filled properly. He was doing an awfully good job of trying to keep his hips still so that he didn’t dislodge Dean, but it was taking its toll; he was alight with hormones and he didn’t have any reserves of self-control left. He was shaking under the dual assault, arms taut and hands still fisted in the sheets.

The twining scents of Cas’s slick and Cas’s pre-come hit Dean hard – he knew he didn’t have long himself. Reluctantly, he pulled away, placing a parting kiss on Cas’s ass before lowering himself to Cas’s shaking body.

“You’re being so good for me, baby,” whispered Dean, turning Cas to face him. “You ready?”

“Fucking ages ago,” Cas breathed back, but his eyes were wet and lips were impossibly tender as he kissed Dean, small kisses that ran over his chest and shoulders.

Dean settled his hand on Cas’s hip and lined himself up where Cas was open and dripping for him, laid out on his bed for the taking.

“Want you so bad,” Cas murmured, a dangerous quiver in his voice. “Missed you so much.”

Dean closed his eyes, thanked his lucky stars for second chances. Third chances. Fourth chances. Whatever they were on now, however many times they’d pissed each other off and had been talking past each other, none of it had been able to hurt this.

There was a hitch in Cas’s breath and a matching gasp in Dean’s as he slid home.

 _Home_.

Cas’s heat was overwhelming. Dean didn’t have the words to describe how beautiful Cas was as he arched his back into it.

He couldn’t breathe with the pressure of it all.

He stopped. He told himself he was pausing for Cas’s benefit, give him a chance to get used to it – but Cas had other plans. Drawing Dean down with a strength that couldn’t be resisted, Cas wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s shaking chest.

And he was shaking – arms shaking so bad he could barely hold himself up. He angled his body down to the side and clutched at Cas, pulled at him a little stronger than he meant to, chest suddenly tight with all the things he wanted to say and couldn’t.

“Dean,” murmured Cas, immediately pushing aside his own desperation to hold his alpha close, to comfort him. “I know. I know. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I thought I’d lost you,” Dean managed. _You’re a part of me. I need you._

“I’m here. Right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Cas helped him through the moment, warm hand stroking his back, bright lips stealing kisses.

“Cas, I ...”

And when Dean couldn’t finish, Cas cradled his jaw and looked him in the eyes. “I love you so much,” he said simply, before kissing Dean deep.

Cas’s words released him, simply and completely, and they both groaned when Dean began to move again. This was heavy now, urgent and primal, and they could feel the electricity building between them. Dean blinked back moisture from his eyes, unsure if it was tears or sweat.

“Oh _God_ , Dean,” Cas gasped, breaking the kiss to groan, then greedily reaching out for another. Dean surged down on him, pressed his omega deep into the mattress to come in at a new angle, so that Cas was letting out gasping little cries with every stroke of Dean’s cock against his sweet spot. Dean began to pump harder, could feel his knot tighten in anticipation, knew just how Cas was going to give beneath him when the time was right. He was using short little thrusts now, too lost in Cas’s body and scent to want to leave an inch of space between them.

They were close and they knew it.

“Cas, baby,” Dean managed, head swimming with heat and scent and all the elation of having his omega back in his arms. “You ready for this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Cas fervently, gripping Dean’s wrist tight.

“Other side or same side?” he panted.

“Same side,” he replied. “Go higher up.”

_Above the collar line._

Dean almost came right then. “You sure?”

“Never surer,” Cas gasped, then dissolved into incoherency again as Dean hit his prostate.

Cas’s body seized around him as he came with a low, gravelly cry. Cas’s white-knuckled hands gripped Dean’s arms and he threw his head back, baring the long, clean line of his neck and oh, that was it, that was just what he needed – as Cas spurted between them, warm and wet, Dean’s hips stuttered one last time and his knot took.

Cas groaned as Dean filled him, but there was no resistance – Cas was completely pliant, completely relaxed, had completely given in to this. He wanted this, body and soul. Dean's knot slid in with a fleshy pop, and then Dean was coming, too – dissolving at the edges, sweaty fingers twined desperately with Cas’s, uncertain where Cas ended and he began.

In the rush and chaos of his own frayed mind, Dean sought for that long-abandoned thread of ancient knowledge, hidden somewhere deep inside him – unerringly, his lips found the song of Cas’s pulse, and his teeth sunk in.

Dean winced in sympathy as he heard Cas hiss, but it was over in a second, and Dean let Cas pull him down on top of him as they both succumbed to the overwhelming flood of pheromones.

It dawned on Dean through the orgasmic grogginess and _brightwarmyesnowloveyou_ sweetness of Cas’s post-climax scent that they were mated.

The realization was enough to cause his knot to spasm again with another gush of come. Dean could barely breathe. Cas’s body was trembling against his; their hearts were beating in tandem, and every pulse of his body whispered _Cas, Cas, Cas._

Cas shifted under him with a vague noise of discomfort, and Dean groaned again as the motion pressed down on his sensitive knot. He blinked against the blast of stars through his vision, then eased his weight up a bit, reached a hand down to gently settle Cas’s hips, and Cas sighed in relief.

Cas’s blood felt strange in his mouth – Dean swallowed, then touched Cas’s neck with his tongue. The bite was neat, clean and shallow, and Dean licked away the last of the blood with a reverential mouth.

He raised his tired, dizzy head to look at Cas.

Everything in his life had reduced down to this slender, sleepy body underneath him, and that knowledge washed over him, warm and sweet and secure.

He realized there were tears in his eyes.

Cas looked up at him with an expression of stunned adoration. There was no attempt to hide it or tamp it down – it was as though they were looking at each other in the stark light of day, sins and flaws laid bare, and in an instant absolved.

It was a moment of perfect clarity.

“Oh,” Cas managed after a moment, tear tracks on his temples and cheeks. “It didn’t ... last time ... Dean, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t know – ” He didn’t seem to be able to speak past the lump in his throat, but Dean knew what he meant.

Who could have known it would possibly feel like this?

Dean was too overcome for words, so he kissed his mate instead.

Kissed him hard, because Cas had chosen him and was here to stay.

Kissed him in the big wide bed that hadn’t been anything special until the day Cas had showed up, and now was irrevocably _their_ bed because it was where they’d first had sex and where Cas had first nested and now it was the place where they’d mated and Cas’s bright clean scent was wound through the weave and Dean’s knot was buried deep inside, locking them together, and one day Dean was going to knock his pretty little omega up in this bed and oh god, _Cas_ …

“Last time I ever hurt you,” he murmured. "Promise."

“Barely felt it,” Cas hummed, so slurry he sounded drunk. “Didn’t hurt me at all.”

Dean felt fiercely proud of him. “Good. Glad.” He couldn’t believe another alpha had been privileged enough to hold Cas like this, and had taken him for granted. He was never ever going to let this go. “We’ll put some disinfectant on it later.”

Dean raised his weight on one elbow and shifted them into a more comfortable position. Cas hissed gently as Dean’s knot tugged against his sensitive rim and a cooling trail of come leaked out.

“Shit, sorry. There – that alright? You okay? Tell me what you need, Cas.”

“Stop fussing,” smiled Cas, throwing a lazy arm over Dean’s back. “I’m fine. Just kiss me.”

Dean happily obeyed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the story tags have been edited slightly.

It was a hot August weekend when Castiel finally met Sam. He brought his wife and pup up for the weekend, and Dean invited the neighbours over to join them for a barbeque.

Castiel had been more anxious than he’d been willing to admit about the prospect of meeting Dean’s family. He shouldn’t have worried.

Sam, if it was possible, was even taller than Dean. He gave Castiel a wide smile as they shook hands.

“Sammy’s a lawyer, too,” Dean had said, upon introduction. “You two probably have tons to talk about.”

“I work in environmental law, Dean,” Sam said, with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m pretty sure Cas already thinks I’m an idiot.”

“Cas drives a Prius, Sammy,” said Dean. “He’s allowed to look down his nose at exactly nobody.”

Castiel liked Sam pretty much immediately.

He was cut from the same cloth as Dean – a little more precise in his manner, a little more diffident, but just as friendly and charming. It was clear that the charisma was a Winchester thing. Watching them goof around in the yard as they fired up the grill, Castiel felt a stab of sudden sadness: there was a brotherly camaraderie between them that he’d long since lost with his own siblings. Sam and Dean were _family_.

The feeling departed as swiftly as it had arrived, however. Castiel looked around at this strange collection of people drinking beer on Dean’s lawn. Not the type of people Castiel would have predicted, and he liked them the better for it – even Bobby, who treated Castiel with a kind of disappointed paternalism once he found out that the lawyer didn’t know a brad point from a masonry bit. Together, Ellen and Bobby hauled out the picnic table out onto the lawn and set out the plates and potato salad with the kind of familiar bickering that suggested this was a common ritual.

Castiel realized that this was the beginning of his own family. These people belonged to Dean, and so they belonged to him, too, in some weird way.

“Penny for your thoughts, stranger,” said a voice beside him, and Castiel turned to see Jess standing beside him, baby in arm. Even as a man who was strictly into other men, Castiel was a little taken aback: she was gorgeous.

“Are they always like this when they get together?” he asked, jerking his head to where Dean and Sam were roughhousing, all thoughts of responsible burger-flipping forgotten.

“Oh, usually they’re worse. Just wait ‘til Jo gets involved. She riles them up like anything.” She gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder with her free arm. “Good-looking boys, though. We luck out, or what?”

Castiel smiled despite himself – Jess was disarmingly friendly. She must make a great nurse.

“Sam seems nice,” he said.

“Yep, their momma raised them right,” Jess said, affecting a drawl. “Well, I’m not actually sure she got a chance to do much raising. Oh, honey, stop it, that’s mama’s hair.”

The last was directed at baby Mary, who was beginning to get fussy and grabby.

“She’s getting hungry, and I’ll just bet Sam left the formula in the car.”

“I’ll hold her if you like,” offered Castiel on impulse.

“Oh, would you, just for a sec? There we go – look at that, she likes you. Must be that omega magic. She’s pretty good, but sometimes Sam’s scent still sets her off. Be right back.”

And with that, Castiel was left awkwardly holding the fussing baby.

“What do you want?” he grumbled, readjusting his grip on her flabby limbs. She was surprisingly heavy, but she stilled and cooed when he found out how to cradle her properly. It turned out it wasn’t that hard.

“Look at you,” said Jo, loping up to him. “This is the calmest I’ve ever seen her without her mommy.”

“Um, would you like to ... ?” offered Castiel, already regretting his decision to help out.

“Oh, no,” said Jo, backing off, “I’m not allowed hold her. Jess doesn’t trust me, weirdly enough. Oh, look, I think she likes you!”

Castiel was unsure whether or not he was pleased by that information.

“Who needs another beer?” hollered Dean, opening the cooler. “Bobby, you’re dry!”

“I’ve got it,” said Castiel, correctly interpreting the affronted look on Bobby’s face as Dean presented him with a Miller Lite. He grabbed two home-brews from the kitchen with his free hand and delivered one to Bobby, who took it gratefully.

“Cheers.”

“Dean,” prompted Castiel, handing him the other beer. Dean flipped the cap off for him and handed it back. “Thanks.”

“Welcome. How’s my best girl?” This was directed to his niece, who had calmed down considerably and was now drooling on Castiel’s arm. “She’s being good for you.”

Castiel shrugged – he didn’t have any innate child-rearing abilities and Dean knew it. “She’s probably just tired.”

“So when are you two thinking of popping one out?” asked Jo, her eyes mischievous.

Dean waited for Castiel to finish coughing on his beer before scooping Mary out of his care with a feral grin: _this one’s all you, babe_.

“No immediate plans,” Castiel wheezed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Jo smirked.

“Go help Ash, Jo,” ordered Dean, jokingly booting her aside. She went, laughing.

“Can’t use a drill, can’t drink a beer. Dean, what do you keep this boy around for?” asked Bobby.

“You really want me to answer that?”

“Acquisitions and securities, mostly,” Castiel replied, picking up the tongs to flip the patties Dean had abandoned in favour of his niece. “Plus my amazing ass. Another burger?”

Bobby nodded, grinning. “You sure can pick’em, Dean. You’re alright, kid.”

 

* * *

 

It was past midnight when Castiel and Dean finally made it back to their room, exhausted and a little buzzed. The guests had gone home and Sam and Jess were holed up in the bedroom downstairs.

They were both sunburned and sweaty and mellow. Without even thinking about showering, they flopped down on the bed and peeled each other’s shirts off.

“You look so good in my jeans,” Dean murmured, half-asleep.

“You look pretty good in your jeans, too.”

It was too hot to make out but they went for it anyway, slow and unhurried, rubbing their lazy erections through the denim.

“So I’ve been thinking,” said Castiel, apropos of nothing.

“Sprain anything?”

The old joke passed between them like a blessing.

“I think I might quit Smith’s.”

That got Dean’s attention. “That’s a great idea. You could come do some in-house work for us.”

“Well, wait, I’m not done yet, because my idea comes with a favour. I talked to Gabe, and he says his firm might be willing to take me on.”

“What do they do?”

“Well, they’re a little more ... unconventional. I’d be taking a hit in pay for sure, and I’d have to rebuild my client base. But I think it could work, as long as you’re okay with it.”

“I am so okay with that. It sounds like a bit of a step down for you, though.” Dean frowned. “You worked hard to get there – are you sure you want to give that all up?”

Dean wasn’t wrong – Castiel had worked hard to get there, and not many people could have done it. But he also knew his future had to be something more than working long hours for a boss who wasn’t interested in treating him like an equal. He deserved better than that. “I think so,” he said, pleased by how comfortable he was with the idea. “The firm’s less prestigious, but Gabe and I get along. I’d make partner sooner, have some real influence. I’m could make something of it, but it would take time. It might mean less work for a while.”

“God forbid. You mean you might have to work nine to five like a regular person?”

“You could join me,” Castiel said pointedly. “All the groundwork for the project’s done: you could scale back your hours for a little while and nobody would blame you.”

“I could at that. So what made you want to quit?”

Ah. “It’s just ... good timing,” he said, rather lamely.

Dean noticed the evasive tone, and narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Good timing how?”

“Well,” Castiel said, dropping his eyes, “I know we haven’t been mated for very long, but we _did_ synch right away, and I was sort of thinking ...” Dean’s hand was resting on his thigh; Castiel brought it up to sit on the flat of his belly, “that maybe we could ...” he flicked his eyes up to meet Dean’s, biting his lip, “you know ... try.”

Dean stared at him.

And then Dean stared some more.

Castiel cocked his head, frowning. He wasn’t sure how Dean would respond to this suggestion, but he’d expected _something_.

“Dean?” he asked, tentatively. “What do you think?”

“You want to have kids? _You_?” Dean choked out, incredulous.

“Maybe,” said Castiel, newly shy.

“Maybe?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Since when have you wanted kids?”

Castiel shrugged, now smiling so hard it was beginning to hurt, because Dean’s scent was curling up bright and trilling now and he knew that underneath Dean’s surprise was an alpha wagging its tail and jumping up and down in excitement.

“Was it because of Mary? Did she set your clock off or something?”

“Nope. It was seeing you with Sam.”

Dean blinked. “Well _that’s_ weird, Cas.”

“You and Sam are a family. I spent a long time thinking I didn’t need a family, or didn’t deserve one, or whatever, but it turns out I do. You’re my family, Dean. You’re my mate, and I want to have your pups.” Castiel squeezed his hand where it was still resting on his belly. “What do you think?”

“If I recall our earlier conversations correctly,” Dean said slowly, letting his hand slide up to tug not-so-gently at a nipple, “I think this means you and I have to have lots and lots of sex first, just to be fair to you.”

Castiel smiled. “I’m sure we can arrange that.”

“When do you want to go off your B.C.?”

“Ran out this week. I thought I’d talk to you before I went in for a refill, just in case you wanted to … you know.”

There was a feral glimmer in Dean’s eye, the kind that made it hard for Castiel to focus on anything other than how much he wanted to wrap his hands around those broad shoulders. “Yeah. I do. I really, really do.”

“Really?”

“ _Really_ ,” said Dean, voice gone low and throaty.

“Good,” said Castiel, grinning, and pulled his mate down into a brand new kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, we made it!
> 
> Readers, commenters, kudos-leavers - I want you to know how much I appreciated your feedback! I know it's a pain reading WIPs, but I was really touched that so many of you stayed with this fic. Thanks for sticking it out with me! You're all awesome.


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